


Somewhere to Elsewhere

by Quantum_Witch, wanderamaranth



Series: Kingmaker 'verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Anal, Angels, Angst and Humor, Arthurian, Brotherhood, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Children, Christianity, Confessions, Conventions, Daddy Issues, Demons, Desperation Play, Drama, Dreams, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fangirls, First Time, Friend Or Foe, Frottage, Gay For You, Going to Hell, Grace Sharing, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hallucinations, Heaven, Heir To The Throne, Hell, Het and Slash, Home Sweet Home, Hotel Sex, Human Castiel, Infidelity, Inheritance, Jealousy, Judaism, Kabbalah, Legends, Love, M/M, Marriage, Masturbation, Medical Trauma, Memories, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, Out of Body Experiences, Post Season 6, Power Dynamics, Prophecy, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma, Quest, Reincarnation, Road Trips, Romance, Secrets, Sequel, Soulmates, Souls, Spirit Animals, Topping from the Bottom, Torture, Transformation, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 156,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Witch/pseuds/Quantum_Witch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderamaranth/pseuds/wanderamaranth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/201573">"Use Your Illusions"</a>.</p><p>Defeating the Leviathan and Raphael's armies has come at a great cost to Dean: losing Castiel, just after realizing his true feelings for the angel. When Castiel miraculously returns – human and unaware of his past – Dean must help him recover his memory on a complex and dangerous Quest. With his own mind finally in one piece, Sam finds himself falling for the kind-hearted doctor who aided Castiel and gave them all a real home. And all the while, dark forces are watching, waiting for Castiel to regain everything, plotting to rip it all from his grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART I - CHAPTER 1: The Coming Dawn (Thanatopsis)

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: If you have not read "Use Your Illusions" we strongly recommend that you read that story first. Thanks!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a much-changed Castiel returns, and the Winchesters move to Kansas.

  ****October

_  
**Bright.**   
_

_So bright. Sharp. Hurts._

_Spinning can't stop spinning._

_Breathe. Faster. Need air. Hit, crack, hard. Dust. Breathe dust._

_  
**Hurts.**   
_

_Push up, stand. Hot, bright. Forward, go forward. Moving, walking._

_Walking. Walking. Walking._

_Sound. People. Loud, shouting._

_Scared, breathing hard. Falling, hard ground. Dizzy._

_Flashing light. Voices, urgent, hands. Lifting, carrying._

_  
**Dark.** _

_**  
**_

* * *

"He's coming around. Can you hear me, sir?"

He nodded slightly and tried to speak, but his voice was a whisper, tight and dry. A hand lifted his head gently, put a cup to his lips and he drank slowly, coughed a few times. Then spoke in a pinched croak, "Where…?"

"Smith County Memorial," the voice, which belonged to a young woman in blue scrubs, was calm and steady. "You've hit your head, doesn't seem too bad. We stitched you up and checked everything else. Nothing broken, a few scrapes, and your feet are scratched up. Those are bandaged too, so they'll probably feel a little weird right now."

Brightness again, pinpoints against his eyes. He winced away, trying to put up a hand to cover his face.

"It's okay, just checking your pupil reaction," the woman said, putting away the penlight. "Looks good. So," she said carefully, "we have some questions if you're feeling up to answering."

He breathed slowly then said, "Yes."

"Okay, good," she smiled reassuringly. "You were found on the road coming into Lebanon, Kansas before you collapsed. The folks who picked you up said you were wandering in a daze. They brought you to the closest hospital, here in Smith Center."

He nodded, though it meant nothing to him.

"The responders who arrived on the scene said you were wearing just slacks, no shirt or shoes, and it looked like you'd been walking for a while. They're guessing you probably came from a little bit north of town. Do you remember?"

He paused for a moment, squinting. "I… walk…"

"Right. Now they didn't find any identification with you, so we need to know who you are and then we can contact someone to come for you."

The natural thing was to open his mouth and give an answer. But no sound came out. Because he had no answer. After a second of blinking, his eyes flicking back and forth as though trying to find the answer written somewhere nearby, he said shakily, "Don't know…"

He looked up at the woman, his eyes huge and pleading. "Don't know. Don't know…"

In his sudden panic, he began to thrash, nearly tearing loose the IV attached to his arm. The nurse laid her arms across his chest to restrain him, calling for help. Seconds later, he stopped struggling as the world went dark again.

 

* * *

_Blurry. Flashes of light and dark. People moving around, talking. Beeps and clicks._

_Pain. Head hurts, feet hurt. Arms won't lift. Moaning._

_Faces come in an out of focus. Streaks of light follow them where they move. Blues and greens._

_But there…_

_Gold. Sharp and sudden, rounded, glowing. Red. Bright long streak, dripping blood. White. Flaring bigger than the world._

_Blink and it's gone._

He was gaining cognizance slowly. It was a different place now, busier, more people staring at him, talking around him, poking him. He twitched but didn't speak, furrowing his brow.

"Hello there," came a woman's voice. A new voice.

He turned his head shakily toward her. She was tall and a bit thin, with blondish hair and light brown eyes. There was a soft glow around her, blue-violet and soothing.

"Can you hear me, hon? Understand what I'm saying?"

He gave a small nod.

The woman smiled. "Good. I'm Dr. Donovan. You've been moved from Smith Center to Salina Regional, where we can better treat your injuries." The doctor sat down on a stool next to the bed. "Okay, I know this was done already but we need to ask again. Do you remember anything? Who you are, or where you've been?"

He swallowed hard, and gazed up at the ceiling. "No," he whispered. "I… no." He started to tremble and she placed a gentle hand on his to calm him.

"It's all right. It's not uncommon with a knock to the head like you got," she reached forward and gently pressed around the edges of the bandage on his forehead. He didn't wince this time. "There's nothing broken, just a cut and some nice bruising. We're going to keep a close eye on you, no worries." She sat back and took out a pad of paper. "Okay, honey, I'm here to help. We need to figure things out, so we'll just take it slow. Don't try too hard, just tell me whatever comes to mind, okay?"

He nodded again, licked his very dry lips. "Bright."

"You remember a bright light? Okay." She wrote this down. "Go on."

"Wind…"

"Yes, there was a freak storm just before you showed up. So maybe you got caught in it. Bound to be disorienting. Anything else?"

He pinched his face as if trying to squeeze answers from his brain. "No." He felt the edges of panic begin to tug at him, and she seemed to sense it as her hand came down gently on his again.

"All right then, there's no need to push it. You get some rest. We'll do what we can to get you sorted out." She stood up and did a quick check of all the equipment around the bed, some of which was attached to his arms and chest, and adjusted the drip of liquid hanging above him. "I'll be back to check on you later today."

Darkness took him again.

 

* * *

Sounds were muffled and senseless, and they intruded on his sleep until he couldn't keep his eyes closed any longer. He squinted against the light; there was always too much light. Another person was in the room, next to the doctor. He… was familiar.

"Bobby," his voice rasped out the name.

Their heads turned his way and the doctor came closer. "You remember him? That's wonderful, a good sign." Her smile was wide and encouraging. "Mr. Singer's here to help us sort things out. I'll let you two talk for a few minutes."

The doctor stepped back to the door and spoke briefly to the man called Bobby, who came into the room hesitantly.

He blinked rapidly as the man approached, seeing trails of light flow after him. Brown and green, earthy and cautious.

The man, older and bearded, dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans and a ball cap, stopped near the bed and cleared his throat. "Hey, Cas. Sure was a, uh, big surprise to see you back. Doc says you're doing pretty good physically, but your head is banged up a little and you're having trouble remembering things."

" _Cas_." That was him. Grasping the name like it was a life-preserver, he breathed heavily and closed his eyes. " _Cas_ …"

"Yeah, I was afraid you might not remember that," Bobby looked worried and uncomfortable. "It's okay, I cooked up a story to cover for ya anyway, so at least I can get a handle on things 'til you've got your memory back."

Cas opened his eyes again, frowning at the man. "Not real?" He looked Bobby up and down then flicked his gaze around the room. "Not real…"

Bobby's brows lifted. "Damn, it's worse than I thought. Okay, we'll wait 'til the boys get here and maybe that'll help jog your memory. Sorry, son, I'll do the best I can meanwhile. Don't strain your brain trying to remember stuff, okay, we're working on it."

Cas whimpered, beginning to shiver again. He didn't remember anything. His name was brand new. This man he thought he knew wasn't real. He wasn't real either. It overwhelmed him and he cried out softly, painfully, his hands clenching up to his chin as he tried to curl into a ball.

Bobby backed up and shouted for the doctor, and staff came running to calm Cas down. He was inconsolable, crying out wordlessly for something he didn't understand. Medicine was injected into an IV and he fell softly into the dark once more.

 

* * *

His eyes opened slowly to a room that wasn't so bright this time, and was thankful for the relief. Turning his head, he saw a nurse checking equipment at his bedside and across the room near the door was the doctor and Bobby.

Cas frowned that he was still present. He was fake and Cas wanted to tell someone that, but he couldn't make the words form. Nothing was working right. It was frustrating and terrifying. He shifted in the bed, catching the nurse's attention. She spoke to him, nonsense words. Now he couldn't even understand language. His fear grew and he began to whine softly.

The nurse made to cross the room and fetch the doctor, when a glowing figure filled the doorway.

Golden and pure and warm. Cas's throat clenched in awe at the beauty. The glow approached quickly; inside the glow was a man.

" _Dean_ ," Cas's voice was stronger than it had been since he'd first woken in the hospital. The nurse, the doctor, and Bobby all turned to see, looks of amazement and relief on their faces.

"Yeah, Cas, it's me, I'm here," Dean reached him and took his hand firmly.

The man was tall and strong, with green eyes that pulled at something deep inside Cas. There was a nearly unreadable expression on the man's face, a mask of determined control that was a thin veneer over honest terror. How Cas knew this, he had no clue. But Dean made sense to him. The one and only thing that did. Unquestionable.

"Dean," Cas whispered again, his hand squeezing the man's fingers as they were laced together. "Dean…"

There was still great fear in his heart. He couldn't understand anything and couldn't speak those fears, but Dean was here. He drew that into himself and curled around it like a tiny ball of fire in the darkness as he fell asleep.

 

* * *

Sam tried to slow his breathing after sprinting through the hospital. He and Dean had driven like bats out of a very fiery hell to get from Pennsylvania to Kansas in less than two days. If he'd still been a praying man, he'd have thanked God for the blessed lack of police along the way since Dean had broken nearly every traffic law in the book.

"Holy shit, Bobby, is this for real?"

"Yeah, son, I think it is." Bobby shook his head in bewilderment. "As far as I can tell, that's really Cas, back from the dead. Ain't like none of you haven't done it before. Ain't even the first time for him."

"Third, actually," Sam supplied. "Damn, it's been months since he… Dean was finally getting used to being without him. Now…" Sam sighed, hating to sound ungrateful for Castiel's return. But why had it happened? That question would probably have to wait. "How did you even find him?" Sam asked.

"I was scanning the FBI database, just looking around the Missing Persons section. Sometimes I get leads, ya know. And there was his photo, just listed the day before as a John Doe. I just about choked on my beer," Bobby grunted.

"Anyway, I figured I'd better get down and find out for sure. Figured even if it'd been the Novak guy, he could use the help, ya know? The information online said he could be identified by 'unusual scars', no specifics. That was a tricky one. Coming down here, I kept wracking my brains for what they could be and I remembered you telling me how Cas was wearing Dean's amulet when…" He stopped and cleared his throat. "And that it was glowing like fire. So I hoped that would be one of 'em. I was right."

"He's got a scar on his chest? Shaped like the amulet?" Sam gawped.

"Yeah, it's not exact but it's close enough to describe as a little horned head and that was good enough for the doctors to believe the rest of my story."

"What story?"

"Well, if I knew him, I had to have a name, didn't I? _'Castiel, Angel of the Lord'_ wouldn't have gone over too well. Doc says he's already got trauma-induced amnesia. Just as well, too. If he'd said _that_ , they'd already have him locked up in the loony bin."

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah, would've been way harder to get him out."

"Yeah. So I came up with a story real fast, and then I made some calls and got some ID rushed up here. So Cas is set and you guys can take control of the situation from here."

"Okay, so what's the cover story?"

Bobby hesitated, twisting his face a bit. "He's, uh, my nephew."

Sam's eyes popped. "What? How? You don't have any siblings, do you?"

"I do now. Older brother Richard, wife Miriam, both deceased. They went over to Romania to adopt an orphan back in '82. 'Castiel' is just odd enough a name to pass for something in that region. They traveled around a bit so Cas got a really eclectic education as a kid. They moved back home to the States when he was a teen. Settled in Kansas when he was finishing high school."

Bobby cleared his throat, extremely uncomfortable now. "Uh, this is where it's up to you boys. Had to make it sound like you were old buddies so they'd trust you around him. I said he'd gone to school with you both, his senior year. Same year as Dean, and they ah… well, I kinda let the doctor think they'd been high school sweethearts."

Sam stood with his mouth open for a very long second. Then he started giggling hysterically, as quietly as possible because he was in a hospital, after all. "Oh my God, Dean is gonna _kill_ you."

"Too damned bad for him. Anyway, he just made a perfect case for it when he ran in there and grabbed at Cas like a lovesick fool." Bobby snorted with humor. "Well, here's the papers to prove who he is." He handed over a folder of print-outs, including photocopies of a driver's license and adoption papers, expertly done.

"Wow, this is great work," Sam said admiringly. "We got someone new on the inside?"

"Yep. Remember that gal Holly from Arizona?"

"How could I forget? Not everyone gets turned into a phoenix in the middle of an apocalypse. Glad to hear she's still in the hunting game."

"Said it's in her blood," Bobby chuckled. "But she did retire from active hunting, had a run go south and somebody got hurt. She decided her research skills were a better road to take. She's also got skill in forging, as you see. And apparently being a phoenix gave her some psychic power, or at least the power of persuasion. Because this stuff? She gets so much genuine cooperation from inside authorities it's as good at the real thing. Wouldn't be questioned."

"Wow. Glad she's on our side."

"No kidding. Well, I gotta get going. I told them Cas was on his way to my place when he disappeared, and I was just lucky to be looking up missing person when I found his picture." Bobby grinned. "Don't ya love coincidence. Anyway, the doc said he might be okay for release in a few more days so I have to make sure he can come home with me. And I sure ain't got a room ready enough for him right now."

"I could come help," Sam began.

"No way in hell. You have to be here for Dean. His glue ain't gonna hold for much longer and Cas can't help him. Plus I gotta get back so I can erase Cas from the Fed's database. We can't have them actually getting involved somehow."

"Good point. Thanks, Bobby, for covering so well. Pretty impressive stuff." He smiled, tapping the folder of papers.

"Yeah, I deserve a medal. Or a Pulitzer for spontaneous fiction, or something. Anyway, I put some mojo bags in underneath his bed. Ya never know what the hell's gonna come lurking around and I don't trust for a damned minute that no one might find out he's back from the dead. As for you two, I signed a bunch of consent forms for you to have say-so while I'm gone. He's all yours for now." The older hunter grunted, slapped Sam on the back as a way of goodbye, and left Sam to deal with everything else.

When he was alone in the hospital hallway, Sam finally let out his breath fully. He leaned back against the wall opposite the doorway to Cas's room. Inside it was mostly darkened, but he could easily make out Dean's shape hovering over the bed where Cas lay. This was going to be hard for all of them. But if Cas really couldn't remember anything, it would be doubly so. How much could they tell him of the truth? Would he understand it, or believe it?

One day at a time, he supposed.

For something to do, he opened the folder again and looked more closely at the papers. _Castiel Singer,_ he grinned. Born September twenty-first, nineteen-seventy-eight. That made him four months older than Dean. Jimmy Novak was surely older than that and the body did look it. Of course trauma could be blamed if anyone questioned it.

Wait… September twenty-first. That was familiar.

Sam frowned. That was three days after Dean returned from Hell. It was the same date he and Castiel had their first encounter in the barn. So it was technically the day Castiel first showed up in a human vessel.

_Hah, very funny Bobby._

Shaking his head at the slightly morbid humor, Sam flipped through the rest. Where had Bobby gotten a photo of Cas for the driver's license? The only photo he'd ever taken to Sam's knowledge was the one they all posed for just before Ellen and Jo were killed. Did he make duplicates? It looked very similar. Well, there were minor changes which could be Holly's work, if she was as good as Bobby said.

Speaking of photos… Dean might be called on to provide proof of his relationship with Castiel, apparently dating back to their tender teens. Sam grinned madly at the thought again. _Oh Dean, you and your tomcat ways are just about to be excised from history._ And thanks to Sam, there would at least be photos of their more recent past. Tonight, he would get a hotel alone (Dean probably wouldn't leave the hospital unless dragged away by force) and dig through the files on his computer that Dean didn't know existed. Sam's ninja skills with his cell phone camera were about to pay off.

"Hello, Sam, is it? Sam Winchester?" a feminine voice called out to him.

Sam's head whipped around. He'd been absorbed in scrolling through his cell phone photos and hadn't noticed anyone approaching him. The scrubs, stethoscope, and hospital ID badge identified the woman coming towards him as either a nurse or a doctor. From her walk and manner of bearing, Sam was betting doctor.

Surreptitiously checking her for any oddities (because Sam knew just how easy it was to slip into a hospital and pretend you belonged there) he noted that she was fairly tall- about Cas's height- and lean, hair a sort of amber color, halfway between red and blonde, straight but stylish and barely brushing her shoulders. She was a bit older than him, maybe even older than Dean, but not unattractively so. Her smile was gentle, which made everything else about her that much more appealing.

Warm nutmeg-brown eyes reflected her smile as she asked again, "You are Sam Winchester, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes, hi," he said, flustered. Getting caught by surprise was not something he was used to. She grinned with just the slightest bit of mischievousness as he recovered himself, sticking out her hand, which he shook. Her grip was firm, confident, and Sam was certain he was being sized up, as if she was judging how much to tell him by his reactions.

"Dr. Abigail Donovan. I'm Castiel's attending physician. Neurology."

"Oh, ah, yeah. Hi," Sam smiled, wondering when the hell he'd become so inarticulate. "Well, can you tell us anything? How Cas is doing, when we can expect him to be able to leave?"

"Not precisely. Unfortunately, these things are _never_ precise. Mr. Singer has a fairly mild concussion and there's no bleeding around the brain, but we're monitoring it due to bruising. He has eight stitches on his forehead above the occipital orb which look to be healing neatly. He also has badly scraped feet, a few deep tissues bruises. And some general scratches here and there. All in all, physically he should heal in about a week, maybe a week and a half."

"I sense a _'but'_ at the end of that statement," Sam said, causing Dr. Donovan's lips to quirk. He didn't know how she was able to do that and _not_ look as though she was somehow glad to be delivering bad news, but somehow she was. Must be a doctor thing, Sam thought.

"But he's also showing signs of mental trauma which could hamper his healing. It isn't surprising since he doesn't know exactly what happened to him. Right now we're theorizing that he may have gotten caught in that freak tornado we had a couple days ago."

"Freak tornado?" Sam frowned.

"Yes, strangest thing. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and in seconds it just touched down, no warning. Long skinny rope funnel, just shot down from the sky, running backward. Just did a little zigzag dance across a field, almost smack on top of the Geographic Center marker."

"The what?"

"You know, the Geographic Center of the United States? Just outside of Lebanon _?_ " Smirking outright, she said, "I thought you boys were from Kansas."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, I know what it is. It's just… weird."

"Sure is. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was deliberate." She seemed puzzled by the thought, almost surprised she'd said it.

Sam's scalp prickled at that. Maybe it _had_ been deliberate. The center of the U.S.? And their home state, to boot? Nothing about it seemed at all normal. Which was, of course, the definition of their very lives, so why was he surprised?

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Well, anyway. Castiel's current diagnosis beyond the physical is dissociative amnesia, caused by both the head trauma and PTSD. That's what's repressing his memory right now."

"So he can't remember _anything_?"

"Not much. He didn't know his name until his uncle showed up, though he did recognize him fortunately. And, ah," she grinned widely, "your brother. Knew _him_ right away."

Sam chuckled. "I doubt even a lobotomy would make Cas forget Dean."

"Lobotomies don't really affect one's memory," she corrected without a missing a beat.

"Oh. Well, figure of speech, I guess." Sam was embarrassed. Here he was, the supposedly smart Winchester, making a brain joke with a neurologist and getting it wrong. If Dean ever found out he'd never hear the end of it. "So what can we do to help him?" he hastily asked, hoping to smooth over the gaffe. Dr. Donovan gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing, but let it go.

"Right now, he needs rest. And we are watching his condition closely," she reiterated, as if to assure him.

"Thank you," Sam said with relief. He honestly followed with, "We were really worried about him. We didn't know where he'd gone. Dean was..."

"Frantic?" Dr. Donovan supplied, and Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, he's never really been all that good at expressing himself, but when Cas disappeared..." Sam cut himself off, realizing that he was perhaps telling the doctor a bit too much and running the risk of contradicting Bobby's story.

The doctor laid a hand on his arm. "It's obvious he loves him very much. Sometimes, that's the best medicine my patients can have."

Sam smiled, a part of him gleefully anticipating telling Dean that the way he felt about Cas was so obvious even his doctor had already noticed. After years of being accused of emoting like a girl, Sam thought the least Dean was due was a little teasing. "Yeah, I guess it would be. Thank you, Dr. Donovan."

She waved a hand. "Gail, please. And that's why I'm here."

"All right then. Gail," Sam agreed.

 

* * *

Dean did not want to leave Cas's bedside. Sam had to argue with him, tell him that he would be of no use to Castiel if he wore himself down. It didn't help that it seemed like Cas knew Dean was going and was afraid to be alone again. He clutched at Dean's hand, whimpering wordlessly.

"I'm not leaving," Dean said, gripping Cass' hand just a bit tighter in return. Sam wasn't sure if he was telling him or reassuring Cas, but the bed-bound man's body lost some of its desperate rigidity at the words. His brother turned and gave Sam a stare, the message clear: Dean refused to leave while Cas needed him.

A few hours later, Sam decided he needed back up because Dean was teetering where he sat, barely awake but stubbornly refusing to move. He found Dr. Donovan ("Gail, really," she insisted again) at the floor's nurses station and explained the situation.

"Would you be willing to help me?" he asked.

"Of course," was her reply. Gail picked up Cas's chart (and Sam knew it was his because the tab that had previously said 'Doe, John' had been covered by a lurid sticky tab with 'Singer, Castiel' sharpied on) and walked with Sam towards his room.

"Mr. Winchester," Gail greeted him, flipping open Cas's chart as if she needed to check something. Sam knew that a nurse had already been in to gather any information Gail might have needed, but she made a few serious noises in her throat and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, but I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the room for a little while."

Dean was instantly on his feet. "Why?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Gail hastened to reassure him. "I just need to check a few things. As far as I can see, there have been no changes but I just want to make sure."

Dean deflated. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Sam wondered if he'd actually been crying. It made him all the more determined to get Dean out of the room and into a bed.

"Yeah. Okay," Dean said. "I'll just be right out there," he gestured vaguely towards the doorway.

"Oh," Gail said, and Sam had to hand it to her, she had acting casual down pat. He wondered briefly how often she'd had to perform this way for the families of patients; he guessed fairly often, with her ease. Pulling out a syringe, she placed it in the IV and said, "You might as well go and get some rest, Dean. I'm giving Castiel a sedative so he'll sleep peacefully through my exam. He'll be out for the rest of the night."

"I don't-"

"Dean," Sam said. "The doctor said he's gonna be out all night. He won't even know you're gone."

It was a testament to how tired Dean was that he didn't snap back. "Okay. Yeah, fine," he muttered.

Sam dragged him away and checked them in to the closest available hotel, knowing that his brother wouldn't accept being far from the hospital. When they trudged up to the room, though, Dean refused to fall asleep. Instead he paced.

"Maybe we should go back to the hospital," he said. "I know that the doctor said she was sedating him but what if he's got just enough angel left in him to, I don't know, make it not work? What if he wakes up and thinks we just left him there?"

"He's not going to wake up for at least a few hours, Dean." Sam tried to reason with him but Dean was not easy to reason with on his best days, and it had decidedly _not_ been one of his best days. "You know what-" Sam growled with exasperation. "Fuck it."

Stomping up behind him Sam tapped the back of Dean's head, asserting his powers fully for a change, and caught Dean as he slumped fast asleep. "Jesus, you're heavier than you look," he complained, dragging him over to one of the beds. He set Dean on top of the covers and threw a blanket over him before crashing, belly down, on his own bed, and falling into a deep sleep.

 

* * *

_Lights streaked across the sky, hundreds, no, thousands. Some flared and exploded while others clashed, making it look like they were twisting together in a deadly dance. Others tumbled to the earth like falling stars. Amongst all the streaking light stood Dean, the only solid presence. Blood was splattered across his face, painting the bridge of his nose and his jaw red._

_Castiel whimpered and twitched at the sight. Blood on Dean meant Dean was hurt, and if he was hurt then he would stand no chance fighting the twirling stars._

_No, something within him said, it was not Dean's blood, but another's. Dean was a warrior with a sword of golden fire, blessed by... blessed by..._

_Whatever blessings he may have thought Dean was protected by shattered along with the sword in his hands. The shards imbedded themselves in the tops of his thighs and he crumbled with a wordless cry. Cas could see his lips moving, and even if he couldn't hear Dean, he could make out what he was saying. It was his name, over and over._

" _Cas," Dean mouthed. "Cas."_

He woke with a sharp cry, panting. His eyes flicked from side to side, but it only confirmed what he already knew: Dean was not there.

Shapes and shadows danced around the room. It was from the lighted hallway outside his door, people passing by made the shadows leap at him. One seemed to pause a long time, and he felt the weight of that darkness press down on him until he whimpered. Finally, it moved away and he breathed out again.

Castiel moaned softly and curled into a tight ball, crying noiselessly. The dream and reality were hopelessly blurred in his mind, and all he knew at that moment was that Dean had been injured, and now Dean was not there, and it was somehow his fault.

 

* * *

"I still can't believe you knocked me out!"

"Dean, you and I both needed to sleep."

"What I needed to do was be there, Sam," Dean shouted. "Shit, he's probably already awake. You saw what he was like whenever I left him alone for even a minute."

"Just... calm down," Sam said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. It just served to infuriate Dean. "We'll go get some breakfast and then head over together."

"No. You go," Dean disagreed. "I've been gone too long as it is." With a final glare he slugged down the last dregs of his hotel-room coffee and stumbled out the door, and back towards the hospital.

He made it back to Cas's room minutes after leaving the hotel, and he could tell that Cas was awake as soon as he walked through the door. He was curled onto one side and shaking slightly, his eyes fixed but unfocused on the wall. Dean dragged one of the room's ugly visitor's chairs to the side of the bed Castiel was facing and sat down. One hand reached out and grasped Cas's, but the other found the nurse call button. He pushed it repeatedly until several nurses poured into the room.

"Would one of you fine ladies mind explaining to me," he said, in a deceptively calm voice, "why the _hell_ one of you wasn't in here with my... with him?" Castiel had closed his eyes and was already starting to calm under Dean's touch, and it made the man's blood boil to think that Cas had been alone in this room, suffering, while the biddies he'd passed at the nurses station had been tittering and eating fancy donuts and drinking their five dollar coffees and-

"Mr. Winchester," Dr. Donovan pushed her way in. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The _problem_ is that Cas was in here, awake and in pain and alone while your staff stood around stuffing their faces," Dean snarled.

Gail stepped closer to the bed just as Cas was opening his eyes. They were filled with sadness and need, and Dean turned his attention to him, saying softly, "Hey. I'm here, it's okay." Swallowing, he added, "I missed you."

"Dr. Donovan, there was nothing we could physically do for Mr. Singer," one of the nurses dared to say, and if Dean didn't have Cas clinging to his hand, he would have stood and punched her, woman or not.

"Ladies, don't you have other patients to attend to?" Gail reminded them. As they all went to leave the room, she added to the nurse who had spoken up, "Christie, would you wait for me at the station, please." Her tone clearly stated that someone was going to get chewed out.

"Don't worry, Dean," Gail said. "I'll take care of this. You just focus on Cas, okay?"

Grateful, Dean nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

Sam returned to the hospital about an hour after that with a sack of breakfast sandwiches, four coffees and a hangdog expression. Dean took two of the coffees and the bag of food without a word, setting them carelessly on a side table. After a bit of cajoling, Sam convinced Dean to eat something and he did so quickly. Cas watched him eat with wide eyes, as if he'd never seen a person shovel food into their mouths that way before and it was possible he hadn't, at least to his memory.

When Dean had to leave the room for any reason, Cas would huddle and cry again. It got to the point where Dean didn't even want to get up and walk the three steps towards the room's toilet. Sam wasn't very effective at helping Cas, though he tried his best. It was during one of Dean's extremely quick visits to the bathroom that Sam got the idea to try speaking to Castiel with his mind. His results were what they expected, but still disheartening.

"So I've been trying to talk to Cas through angel radio," Sam said casually, stepping aside so that Dean could gather up Cas's hand once more.

Dean looked up at him sharply. "And?"

Sam shook his head. "And nothing. It's like he's not even..." He waved his hand in what he must have thought was a pretty good all encompassing gesture, but meant absolutely nothing to Dean.

"He's not even what?"

"Cas doesn't have any trace of grace in him for me to pick up on. At this point, he's actually more human than I am."

 

* * *

Several days passed. Dean did whatever he could think of to make Cas 'snap out of it' as he put it. He talked to Cas softly, but wished he knew whether any of it was actually heard or understood.

Sam tried to tell Dean that he should only talk to Cas about pleasant things, but it was hard for Dean to think of nice, safe things to talk about when sitting there staring at Castiel hooked up to the various monitors. It was a bit easier when his eyes were open and fixed upon Dean's, and he could pretend that Cas was still an angel without a great understanding of the way the world worked. During those times he would describe the way candy tasted, the importance of finding a motel with the most obnoxious theme possible, the dreams he'd forsaken so that Sam could escape a hunter's life and go to college (something that he'd never told anyone, and probably would not have told Cas if he'd been responsive).

He took over for the nurses – sponge bathing Cas, feeding him, brushing his hair, shaving him. He thought about how strange it was that Cas even _needed_ shaving, and that he might just be human forever now, as Dean readjusted Cas's position on the bed or carefully tipped water into his mouth. He'd never imagined himself in the role of caretaker, not like this – if anything, he'd thought some awful thing would happen and he'd be on the receiving end. Complaining never crossed his mind though, even when he watched Cas struggle to communicate or heard him cry when he stepped out of the room, because those things meant that Cas was there, with him, and that was literally an answer to his prayers.

 

* * *

Castiel knew he was fading in and out of consciousness, but he was unable to tell what was reality and what was the dream. There were times when shadowy figures draped in ragged white drifted horizontally past his doorway, and others when it was just nurses, clumping along on their practical rubber-soled shoes. All had various halos of color that surrounded them, muted purples, dusky greens, spikes of brilliant blue or soothing amber. Sometimes when he saw Dean the man appeared badly injured, calling out for him or the tall one named Sam, blood dripping down his chin and arms outstretched as he lay on a bed of chains.

He'd pull himself from those visions, shaking and feeling desperate, wanting to reach for the Dean that would inevitably be sitting by his bedside but unable to do so. Luckily that Dean (his favorite of the Deans, because this one was whole and un-bloodied, even if he looked tired and worried much of the time) was able to tell when he needed him and would reach out to stroke his hair or run a comforting hand down his calf, but it was never enough.

As more time passed, Castiel found it harder and harder to focus on his favorite Dean and he found himself more often with the other Deans, the ones who called out for him, the ones he had to see become battered and bloodied time and again.

And then the thin pale man in the black suit who had passed by the door several times already, came and stood in the room, staring flatly at Castiel with dull whitened eyes. And Cas knew the man was waiting for him to decide…

 

* * *

"I hate to admit this," Dr. Donovan told Sam the evening of the sixth day, "but none of the treatments I've ordered seem to be helping Castiel."

Sam was sitting in the sparsely furnished family waiting room, elbows resting on his knees, fighting the urge to put his head between them instead. "What are you saying?"

Gail sighed. "Sam, false reassurance isn't my style. I think... I think we need to begin to seriously consider discontinuance of treatment." Sam choked and folded in on himself, feeling ill. "I know that the older Mr. Singer technically signed consent forms for Dean, but... I've seen the way he's been taking care of Cas, and... I believe this is a decision that his uncle should make himself."

Horror bubbled up Sam's throat. "You're telling me that Cas is dying."

When Gail replied, her voice reflected regret, but she was firm. She placed a hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. "I'm telling you that everything we've been trying is failing. I'm sorry, but yes."

Raising his eyes to meet Gail's, Sam croaked, "How am I—I can't tell Dean that. Dr. Donovan, I can't. You couldn't possibly know this, but when Cas was missing Dean was... Cas is like a brother to me, and Dean... if Cas dies, I'll lose them both."

They were interrupted by a woman's gentle voice saying, "Sam? Samuel Winchester, is that you?"

Sam stood suddenly, knocking Gail's hand off as he did so. "Missouri?" he said in disbelief.

"Well," she harrumphed, "It all makes sense now."

Sam simply gaped.

"Well, whatcha waiting for, boy? Lead me to him! I can't help anyone just by standing here yapping."

Scrambling forward, Sam impulsively wrapped her in a hug. "You're here for him? For Cas?"

"Sam, who is this?"

"Perhaps now is not the time for explanations, boy. Just let me talk, alright?" She patted him on the back before releasing him and facing Dr. Donovan's confused expression. "My name is Missouri Moseley," she said, extending a ring-bedecked hand. "I'm a faith healer."

"Faith healer?" Gail parroted back. She stared briefly at the short plump woman, with the far-too knowing dark eyes and quirky half-smile, and felt weirdly intimidated. Then she moved her attention back to Sam. "I know I said that our treatments weren't working, but Sam..."

"We could stand here arguing about this all day, but there is someone who needs me, and you're wasting time," Missouri said shrewdly. "Am I right in the understanding that your patients can consult whomever they may choose for treatment?"

"You are," Dr. Donovan said, clearly nonplussed.

At Gail's admission, Missouri made a shooing gesture towards the archway with her hand. "Go on, Sam. Lead the way."

Head swimming, Sam did just that, walking Missouri towards Castiel's room with Gail pulling up the rear.

Missouri stopped in the doorway, and said firmly, "I'm going to need a few moments with these boys alone."

Bristling slightly, Gail said, "I'll need paperwork filled out stating-"

"Missouri?" Dean said, voice hoarse with disbelief. He was holding one of Cas's hands between both his own.

"Poor thing," Missouri murmured, coming to Castiel's bed and cupping the side of his face. He made a tiny pitiful noise and shivered, turning his head to nuzzle against her palm. "Oh, poor thing."

Ms. Moseley, I need-"

"You'll get whatever you need after I've seen to this child," Missouri insisted, turning her head just enough to give Dr. Donovan a gimlet eye. "Dean, do I have your permission to be here?" she said. Sam saw that his brother's eyes were wide, and he looked to him in question. Sam nodded, and Dean swallowed and turned toward Gail.

"It's fine, Doc. Really."

Gail looked from Dean, to Missouri, to Sam, and then finally nodded. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me."

Sam sighed in relief. "Thanks, Gail." The doctor nodded and left the room.

"Missouri, what the hell is going on?" Dean whispered harshly as soon as Gail was gone. His expression was desperate. "Do you know something?"

"Yes, Dean, that's why I'm here. I dreamed about this man. Or rather, this child." She continued petting Castiel with both hands; one on his cheek, the other across his forehead.

"What I saw in my dream was a huge thing with so many blue eyes, flying through the sky. It was burning hot and fierce, like holy fire." The jolt Dean gave didn't escape her notice. "Then that thing was struck down. It grew smaller and smaller. It was like watching a film played backwards, how it shrank down into a tiny little ball. Like an egg. A little egg of white light."

"What the hell…" Dean breathed slow and heavy.

"What you've got here, boys, is a brand new soul. It doesn't know who or what it is, or likely even where it's at. The only thing it knows is that it's hurting and scared. And even with you right here in the room, Dean, it feels so alone." She reached over and grabbed Dean's hand and pulled it forward to lie on Castiel's chest. "I know you've been helping him as best you know how, but bathing and feeding isn't enough for a baby. You've got to hold them, or they wither."

Sam gasped. "It's like those orphanages where babies are left in their cribs, not being touched. They pull into themselves and just… give up."

"Exactly," Missouri said, "and this poor thing is going through that right now. His soul is crying for you, Dean Winchester. It's trying so hard to cling onto this world, but it doesn't feel there's enough reason to do so. You've got to make him know that you want him here." She looked at him cannily. "You do want him, don't you?"

Dean didn't speak for a moment, his throat working hard. "What do I have to do?"

She smiled kindly, and Sam wondered if it was the first time Dean had been on the receiving end of one of Missouri's smiles. "What you do is you take off your boots, boy. And you climb into this bed, and you hold him like he's the most precious thing on this earth."

With only a second's hesitation, (to consider his manliness and pride, Sam theorized) Dean unlaced his boots, kicked them under the chair nearby, and clambered onto the bed. It was narrow, clearly not made for two grown men, but with Sam's help they maneuvered Castiel around until Dean had one arm under Cas's head and the other wrapped around his waist.

Almost instantly, Cas heaved a huge whimpering sigh and curled up against Dean's chest, hands in fists tucked below his chin. Sam's heart clenched painfully. If this was what it took, he knew Dean would lie here every night until Cas recovered. Or until there was nothing else to be done. Sam shoved aside the idea that Castiel wouldn't walk out of the hospital, deciding then and there that he wasn't going to mention that possibility to his brother. He and Gail would just keep that to themselves.

"C'mon," Missouri was at his side, and Sam hadn't noticed her walking towards the door. Maybe Dean had a point about his maudlin tendencies, Sam thought, as Missouri tugged on the sleeve of Sam's jacket. "Let's give these boys some time," she suggested gently. "We can go fill out the paperwork your doctor was so keen on."

"My doctor? Oh! You mean Dr. Donovan."

Missouri leveled him a look that said she was reconsidering the commonly held notion that Sam was the more intelligent Winchester brother.

As he held the door for her to exit out into the hall, Sam said, "Not that I'm not thankful for your help Missouri, but I'm really honestly surprised to see you."

Humming, Missouri replied, "That makes two of us, Sam Winchester. I always had the notion that if I ever came across you boys again it would mean my death." At Sam's alarmed look, she added, "You have to admit, people who are around you and your brother do have a tendency to die. It seems they fairly often come back, but I've never been enough of a gambler to take the chance that I'd be one of them."

"I guess that's fair," Sam choked out. He couldn't help but wonder if Missouri had known that Castiel was with them if she'd have left him to die, dream or no dream.

"Now just you stop that. Right now," Missouri ordered, lips pursed.

Sam winced. Oh, right, _psychic_.

"I don't need to be psychic to know what you're thinking, Samuel." They were only a few feet from the nurses' station, but Missouri stopped walking and turned to face Sam fully. "And I have to wonder what it is about myself that makes you think I'd leave that poor soul in there to suffer, you and Dean involved or not." Smirking, she continued, "I'd have still come, boy, but I would've brought along a few more protections than just this." She touched the charm necklace at her throat.

"I'm sorry, Missouri," Sam said. He could feel his brows pinching together the way they always did whenever he was feeling contrite.

"Hmm." The woman took a step back, staring at him as if she was considering an especially interesting puzzle. "That's true, you can stick with me after I get the papers signed and tell me what happened to you."

"What happened to _me_?" Sam asked, but he already had a feeling he knew what Missouri was referring to.

"Yes." Missouri nodded, shrewdly. "You're not the same Sam Winchester who walked into my house all those years ago, scared out of his mind and unable to control the gifts God gave him. Something mighty powerful has woken up inside of you, like it opened its eyes…"

Sam's external eyes bugged wide. "Missouri, I—"

"Tell me in a bit." Linking her arm with his, and smiling up at his completely boggled expression, she gently tugged him until they closed the final distance to the nurses' station. "Now I have to go home soon. Oh, don't worry, I'll stay in touch and see how Dean's boy is doing," Missouri said, off Sam's look. "But in the meantime, there's other things that I can be doing."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, and with a mischievous grin, Missouri said, "If you're that eager for me to stick around for a spell, you can catch me up over coffee," Missouri said. Sam looked up to see Dr. Donovan flicking her eyes between the two of them, one eyebrow raised in a question she clearly wanted answered desperately, but was too polite to ask.

"It's been too long since I've been able to walk around with a handsome young man on my arm, and I'm going to enjoy it," Missouri declared to the station at large.

The nurses all giggled and voiced their encouragement. Gail smiled, something about her expression relaxing as she handed Missouri a clipboard. "Just sign where the 'x's' are, please."

 

* * *

Sam and Missouri hunted down the hospital cafeteria and sat in a corner, huddled together over rather bad coffee and Danish pastries, while he caught her up on the last two years.

She mostly nodded as he explained going to hell as Lucifer's vessel, then coming back soulless, then having a wall in his head to repress the memories, then having the wall knocked down and thus remembering he'd been an angel named Samael before being born as a Winchester. At that point, she remarked on the sharp golden ring inside the blue-green of his eyes, declaring it _like a halo hidden in plain sight_. Sam's brows rose at the idea and he smiled in approval.

And there was much more. Missouri smiled wistfully as Sam told her about Castiel and Dean, from Cas raising Dean from hell and the ridiculously epic building love affair between them, the many battles and sacrifices and plural Apocalypses, all culminating in Castiel's brave death and unexplainable rebirth as a human.

At the end of Sam's long retelling, Missouri sighed deeply. "Now that was a story worth writing down."

Sam chuckled. "Ah, I forgot that part…"

And he explained about the prophet Chuck and The Winchester Gospels, at which Missouri declared that, no offense, she hoped she wouldn't be alive to see any churches built in their names. Sam had to agree.

After a couple hours, Missouri was readying to leave when she touched Sam's arm. "There's one more thing you should know, Sam, you and Dean both. You've got to watch out for that boy in there, something's already tried to come for him."

Sam's heart thudded. "What, like a demon?"

"Hmm, could be. I sensed something nasty had been outside the room, but wasn't here when I arrived. That one was dark and unnatural. But another one… A spirit was waiting for him to let go and come away with it." She squeezed Sam's hand, tutting at his worried expression. "Looks like I got here just in time. He'll be safe from that one now. But the _first_ one…"

"We've got wards and charms in place," Sam assured her, though he didn't feel very sure at the moment. They could put up protections for demons, but a reaper was another thing entirely. He was gladder than ever Missouri had come.

"Good, you just keep them up. I get the feeling that first one… it'll be watching for him. Something as big and bright as he was – and still is – it's going to attract attention. You boys – all of you – take care."

Sam nodded and walked her to her car. As she drove away, he realized what a true godsend she'd been. Maybe God wasn't so out of the picture as they thought.

 

* * *

After four days, the room had lost some of its sterility. The lived-in languor of rumpled sheets and carelessly discarded clothing was more depressing than any flea-bag motel Dean had ever stayed in. No hospital room should ever look so occupied, like its patient was entrenched. It suggested that either the patient or their families had given up, had decided _this is it_.

Yesterday, a second doctor dealing with Castiel's case had dropped by the room, his nose wrinkling in distaste for the condition. Whether that affected his attitude toward Dean or not hadn't mattered. When the doctor shoved a pamphlet at Dean and said that the best thing to do for Cas would be to move him to a nursing home… Well, it had been a damned good thing Sam was present. Dean's reaction had been incendiary. Sam had restrained him mentally before he could leap up and strangle the doctor. Dean had reined himself back enough to give the doctor the iciest stare possible, and told him flatly that Castiel was his responsibility, period, and unless the doctor wanted to surgically remove the chair Dean was happy to insert in his ass, then it would be best never to come near the room again.

Today, Dean was still just as furious at the doctor's suggestion. Though he silently, in the depth of his heart, hoped it would never come to that.

Sam had just left the room, having sat vigil for the two hours Dean was willing to leave the hospital. It was only ever long enough to take a shower, really, because Sam took care of everything else. He brought food, clean laundry, whatever else he could think of that would give Dean any sense of normalcy.

He looked around the room with the same disgust the doctor had expressed. It was his own fault, really. In one corner sat his duffel, contents spilling outward in an explosion of disorder; in another was the wheeled table tray piled with books, magazines, and Sam's spare laptop. On the other bed in the double room lay days-old newspapers and a few blurry snapshots of Dean and Cas the year of the Apocalypse, printed out on plain computer paper (Dean didn't know how or when Sam had taken those pictures of them, and normally he'd be pissed to know his brother had done such a thing without his knowledge, but right now all he could feel was gratitude; Sam's creeper tendencies had added verisimilitude to the rather flimsy 'sweethearts' story they'd concocted). There was a half-eaten box mini-muffins next to the snapshots. Normally they were like crack to Dean, little tasty bites of quasi-fruit flavored bliss, but in this room the only flavor he'd tasted from them had been a slightly sour tang of oil and overly-processed flour. Despair was robbing him of even the littlest pleasures.

Dean walked quietly across to stand by the opened window of the room (where he'd cautiously poured a thin line of salt, hoping no nurse would clear it away) and took in a breath of fresh air. He'd scarcely left the room for two weeks and knew he was starting to look pale and drawn, signs of how desperately he was clinging onto the one hope they had. Truthfully, he was clinging onto Castiel for so many reasons he hadn't even begun to examine. It was just too damned much.

He turned back to look at Castiel who was sleeping reasonably peacefully now; it seemed, as Missouri had asserted, that his soul was beginning to settle. When he was awake it was still a shallow state of awareness, but he had stopped crying whenever Dean had to leave his side for five minutes. Physically, Cas was also improving. His feet were healed and the stitches removed from his forehead (it probably wouldn't scar much). His cheeks had regained a flush of health but there was still darkness pooled under his eyes. Dean knew that when he touched Cas's skin it would be cool and slightly dry but radiating warmth, a pliability that said nothing other than 'human'.

Dean was very familiar with that skin now, after two weeks of bathing it. He knew that on the breastbone was a burned scar, still pink like the handprint on Dean's shoulder. Though only an inch across and not perfectly defined, what had caused it was crystal clear to those who knew the shape of an unknown horned god's head wrought in brass. Further down, under the line of the ribs, was a jagged thin scar already turned pinkish-white. It was wide enough to make one think a hand had been pushed inside the body, much like Cas had done to Sam and to Bobby when he'd touched their souls. And Dean knew, though he'd not witnessed it, that was exactly what had happened. Cas had done it to himself, reached inside and torn out his grace. Exploded. To save them all.

Not for the first time, the question he kept crushed to the back of his mind snuck forward and asked itself…

_Why the fuck was Cas back?_

_How_ , he didn't bother asking, because it was always some mystical thing he'd never understand anyway that kept hauling people he knew back from the dead.

But why? Did the universe, or God, or whatever else that was responsible, want Dean to lose his fucking mind? To at long last crack in a way that really did send him howling to the nuthouse? No wraith would be responsible for his madness this time, if Castiel was lost once more.

Dean inhaled the fresh air one last time then shut the window, closing the drapes to block the light. Castiel was still sensitive to that and loud noises.

Bending down, Dean unlaced his boots and toed them off before setting them underneath the avocado green vinyl chair where his jacket already lay. Then slid off his belt (because who enjoys having a belt buckle digging into their stomach). Jaw set, Dean walked over to the dividing curtain and pulled it shut. That at least hid half the mess he'd made.

Lowering the handrail on the side of the bed closest to him (and who thought they needed to be raised to begin with? Dean was going to have to speak to the staff about more than one thing, apparently—he didn't want Cas feeling like he was trapped) he crawled onto the bed, gingerly positioning himself so one arm slid underneath Castiel's neck while the other draped across his belly. With a small noise Cas turned towards him, weakly pushing himself closer, nuzzling his face against Dean's shoulder.

The cracks in Dean's heart shifted against one another, a softly grinding pain deep inside. Knowing he was helping Castiel in whatever small way made those pieces snug together in such a way that they almost felt whole again. But knowing Castiel was reduced to such a fragile state made them shiver, and the pain crept back in.

Though he would never call it such a thing, Dean prayed to Cas. _Please come back. I can't save us both this time._

_  
_

* * *

_He'd been floating for ages. He was tired. Home beckoned, yet he wasn't sure where that was. He'd gone so high, his head was dizzy with exhaustion. So easy to keep falling, up into the darkness of the sky. So tired. But so lonely. There were kind hands in the dark, ready to grip him gently and pull him up and keep him in eternal comfort. He didn't want them._

_Looking down, he saw the golden light, so far away. He craved it, wanted to embrace it, to be embraced. The light called him without sound. Breathing out, expelling the darkness, he pushed against the sleeping softness that waited. Swimming downward, slow but steady. Struggling away from peace, he broke free, crawled into the sharp bright world._

_Home._

Castiel jolted awake with a soft gasp.

It took a moment to focus. Then he saw, only inches away, the face of Dean Winchester, frowning even in sleep. He remembered Dean. Castiel almost hated to wake him but the need to see green eyes was too great.

"Dean," he said, and his voice was so strained it nearly squeaked. He hadn't used it for many days, he didn't know how many. He raised a hand to Dean's face, brushing fingertips lightly over the stubbled jaw. Softly, he said again, "Dean."

And those eyes opened, rapidly. For a few seconds they simply stared at one another, eyes locked and unblinking. It was intense in a way that Castiel knew, but didn't know _how_ he knew. It was both thrilling and comforting.

"Cas," Dean rasped, licking his lips. "You're awake? You're okay?"

Blinking once, Castiel nodded. "I… think so, yes."

An expression of profound relief and desperate joy flickered over Dean's face, then was controlled into one of calmness. "That's great, man. Really good." Dean lay there for one more moment, just staring at him before leaning forward to press a soft kiss onto his forehead, nose ruffling his hair. He felt Dean inhale deeply, shakily.

His heart was thudding even though the touch had been so gentle. "I'm… I think I'm hungry," he whispered.

Dean pulled back enough to see Cas's eyes again. His voice was rough. "Sure. I'm gonna, uh, get up now and get the doc, okay?"

Castiel nodded again. "Yes, okay."

Dean slid an arm carefully from beneath Cas' head, and stood up stiffly. He winced at Dean's obvious discomfort, could hear the joints crackling in so many places though the other man didn't seem to care at all.

"Just hang on, Cas, I'm gonna take care of you."

"Yes," Castiel said, his lips lifting in a small smile. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Smith County Memorial and Salina Regional are real hospitals in Kansas (there's even a neurosurgery building across the road in Salina) but the details inside them are completely made up. Any accuracy is coincidental.  
> \- This is what a [bluebell wood](http://bit.ly/nm0EFI) looks like. You can find information about bluebell woods in Wikipedia. They are very special.  
> -"Abigail" means "father's joy" and the Biblical namesake was said to be "intelligent and beautiful (in 1 Samuel 25:3, ironically) and was one of seven female prophets.  
> -This is what the[ rope tornado](http://bit.ly/pExfIU) would look like. They can indeed run backward, toward the southwest, but it is very rare. (Note by QW: Wrote this months before the actual tornado in the photograph happened 40 miles from my home. It did indeed [spring up out of nowhere](http://bit.ly/nciX5o).  
> -The location – [the Geographic Center](http://www.kansastravel.org/geographicalcenter.htm) – is significant. Where better to plop Castiel back into existence than the center of Dean's world so to speak, and in his home state. Ineffable (yeah, right).  
> -Castiel's dreams and visions are all significant, which will be revealed later.


	2. PART I - CHAPTER 2: When the World Was Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel leaves the hospital, and the Winchesters take him to a new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the curtainfic is short-lived and contains plot.

Cas's recovery was, according to Dr. Donovan, fairly miraculous. Which, all things considered, shouldn't have surprised Sam at all. Former angel, presently human, whatever he was didn't matter. There was still something very powerful at work and Sam was grateful for it. He had Dean and Cas, both intact and seemingly healthy, and that was a miracle on its own. There was a saying about gift horses and their mouths and he was going to try to follow it.

However, Cas still had no memory. He knew Dean, he knew Sam, he mentioned Bobby. He recognized where he was and recalled the doctor vaguely from before. However, he had forgotten most of the last few weeks in the hospital; it was nothing more than faint dreams. According to Castiel, Bobby was truly his uncle, and he didn't know that Dean had whispered things into his ear that had never been spoken aloud before. Sam tried to tell himself it was all just as well.

Thankfully, Castiel did seem to understand the basics of behaving like a human, which he'd barely seemed to grasp as an angel. Maybe such things were inbuilt to a human brain. Sam theorized that the body, even reconstructed, retained imprints on the brain to aid in behavioral normalcy. Since the body, however many deaths ago, had originally belonged to a human it seemed likely the imprinting would've come from Jimmy. It was as good a theory as any other, right now. Sam had a lot of time to postulate, and it was as good a distraction from worrying about how exactly Cas came back as any other.

Of course _this_ Castiel didn't act exactly like the old Castiel. Which was hardly a shock, said Dr. Donovan. Brain trauma, no matter how minor, could affect not just memory but attitude. Once he began to remember things his behavior would reflect that, but until then – "Just be patient, and try not to stress him by complaining that he's not the 'same old Castiel'." Sam assured her that would not happen. He would kick Dean's ass if so much as a word was spoken to that effect.

Within a day of waking, Castiel could feed himself. After three days, he was eating things more complex than oatmeal, eggs, or jello, and glad of it. Sam had watched as Dean promised they'd have a cheeseburger with the works when he was out of the hospital, and Castiel looked briefly blank at the statement then nodded slowly with an odd look on his face. Sam wasn't sure what he'd remembered, or tried to remember and couldn't.

Four days after waking, Castiel was able to walk the length of the hallway outside his room without assistance. He was still weak and would need exercises to regain muscle strength lost from lying in bed so long, but seemed delighted with himself. The broad grins he gave Dean lit up his face in a way neither of them had ever seen. Attractive as even Sam would admit it was, it was a little weird. Dean smiled along with Cas, but when Cas wasn't looking his brow would crease with worry.

Sam cornered him on this just outside of Castiel's room, on one of the rare occasions he stepped away from the former angel. "What's wrong with you, man? Why have you been looking at Cas like..." Sam thought about it, and said, "Like the way you looked at me when I first came back from hell. Like-"

"I don't wanna think it, Sam," Dean cut in with a whisper, "but what if it's not really Cas in there. Missouri said he was a new soul, and Cas didn't have an actual _soul_ before. I saw how different you were with one versus without one, and..."

Scoffing, Sam said, "What are you expecting, Dean? For him to be unchanged? 'Cuz he's human now, and he doesn't even remember being an angel." They both glanced into the doorway. As if to highlight Sam's words, Castiel was holding the remote control to the television, face set in idle concentration as he flipped through channels, looking somehow completely like and unlike his old self.

"That's just it," Dean sighed, turning back to Sam and running a hand over his face. "How do we tell him anything? Doc says we shouldn't push him, I get that. I can't just throw things at him like 'hey, remember when you were ganking demons with your bare hands?' or 'how come you're back from the dead a third time?' or hell, mention demons or dying at all. I get that's too much. But what _can_ we say? So far he hasn't said or done anything that just screams 'Cas', and I just want...well with what happened with you, and...you know?" Dean finished weakly.

Sam did know. Castiel wasn't acting completely like his angelic self anymore and that was clearly bothering the hell out of Dean. He wanted to just blurt out the truth to the man, but therein lay the problem: Cas was now a man, one who'd just undergone extreme trauma and memory loss. Just as there had been a risk with Sam bringing down his wall, now Castiel ran a risk of coming to harm from too much of the truth too soon. There was no safe way to mention the majority of their pasts, especially considering how incredibly fucked up they were. Anything they told him would be by its very nature complicated, unpleasant, or a (though necessary) complete lie.

"Well, I've been thinking about this..." Sam began hesitantly. "Bobby's original cover gives us a few good outs. Cas didn't grow up with us so we can't tell him about his childhood. Supposedly he only went to school with us for a year, so we might be able to fudge our way around that. After school, Bobby said he went off to follow his father around the world. Claimed his dad was a soldier and Cas left to become one, too. So we'll say he came to visit once in a while over the last few years, whenever he had leave. But he always had to go again, and was always on missions that were confidential so he couldn't give us details."

After a moment of wide-eyed silence, Dean said, "Damn, Sam. You should be writing speeches for politicians. Lying while telling the truth."

"We've been lying our whole lives," Sam heard himself say prissily. "Practice makes perfect. But...we should try not to lie _outright_ to him." Shuffling on his feet, he added, "Telling him things about his life that we didn't actually witness could lead to him trying to fill in the blanks with false memories."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "It's hard enough watching him right now, not knowing, but to see him try to do that..."

Sam winced as Dean looked askance at Castiel again. "Damn it. Look, we can't grill him or force his memories, but maybe we can show him photos of us together, remind him of good things we've shared, times we hung out –"

Dean gave a grunt. "Do you know how few and far between those were?"

Grimacing, Sam said, "Yeah, I know. But we could at least try." Not waiting for Dean's response, he continued, "We give him what we can, safely, without filling in gaps with our own speculation. As for ourselves…maybe we should be upfront."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Tell him that we hunt evil shit and kill it? Seriously?"

"Yes," Sam said firmly. "If he asks, we tell him. We can't hide it forever, and he'll never trust us again if he finds out by accident."

"Yeah." Dean looked back at Castiel who had abandoned the television in favor of happily walking around his room, touching various things and muttering to himself, naming them as a memory exercise. "It's just… he doesn't act right. He doesn't even have the right voice—he sounds more like Jimmy. I wish he could give me one thing, just one sign that he's really still himself."

Sam watched Castiel as well. "Give him time, Dean. You just… you have to have faith." Dean groaned at the word. "I know, and part of me agrees, but I'm going with it. Former angels have to stick together." He cocked a smile at the brother next to him, then gave another to the brother he watched through the door. Sam felt in his soul this was Castiel, just new and a bit different, and hoped that Dean would soon feel the same.

 

* * *

Later that day, Castiel had climbed back into bed and Dean was sitting on the chair beside him, watching as Cas scribbled on a notepad. He was practicing writing to be sure he hadn't forgotten how. Dean kept silent because frankly he couldn't remember Cas ever actually writing anything other than Enochian sigils in blood. Yet here he was, writing in English, with a fairly fluid hand. It should have been awesome but it was unnerving instead.

Suddenly, Castiel stopped and fell still. Dean jerked his head up to see Cas's eyes fixed straight ahead, looking at nothing. Then he tilted his head slowly to the side, wrinkled his forehead, and turned toward Dean with a puzzled expression. Those familiar blue eyes stared piercingly into Dean's, and in a deeper voice he said, "I remember talking to you on a cell phone. I was standing on the side of the road. It was dark, and a truck drove by… it was so loud I couldn't hear you."

Dean caught his breath, anticipation and hope blooming in his chest.

"Then," Cas's eyes squinted, as though trying to see through a fog, " a voice told me… I was almost out of minutes."

A shaky laugh came bubbling up from Dean's chest. "Yeah, that's right. You weren't happy about that."

"I waited a long time for you," Cas said gravely, his focus returning to Dean's face. "It was extremely annoying. We had an appointment."

"Yeah…"

"And we kept it. I don't remember how, but you came to meet me." Cas's smile was slow to build-as if unsure it ought to be there-but eventually grew wide and beaming.

Dean smiled back, nearly as wide. Details were missing from Cas's recollection, the memory imperfect, but he'd remembered something - something only they knew - and that was enough for Dean. He could get used to the smile.

 

* * *

When it was announced that Castiel would be released from the hospital within a week but that outpatient therapy was still suggested, Sam realized they would have to stay in town even longer. The former angel was stronger but still unsuited for the big wide world, especially the world of hunters. Bobby's house, while as secure as any hunter's house could be, was still just that: a hunter' house. And speaking from personal experience, being embroiled in a life of hunting while trying to figure yourself out was not a picnic. He wanted better for Castiel than what he'd experienced after his brother brought him out of hell.

That meant Sam and Dean needed to become solid citizens- mostly likely Kansans- for a while. Sure, Dean had managed what passed for normality for a year when he lived with Lisa, but that life was also shattered and unusable anymore. And Sam...Sam hadn't been anyone on paper for years, and paperwork was vital part of living honestly.

Sam spent the last few days before Cas was due to be released working with the hunter-phoenix Holly on developing concrete backgrounds for himself and Dean. When he'd first contacted her, she'd chuckled and said, "Yeah, I'll help you out. But if we're going to be building lives for you, why don't we do it right?"

"Do it right?" Sam had echoed back, and Holly chuckled again.

"Sure," she said. "You'll have social security numbers and driver's licenses and all that jazz, and those will be good for basics, but what about everything else? It makes people suspicious if you don't have a history." Her thick accent drawled over 'suspicious', as though she savored saying the word.

Sam had shrugged, realized the woman couldn't see it over the phone, and said, "You have any suggestions where to start?"

"You bet." Holly sounded smugly amused when she said, "Tell me, Sam, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

Several telephone conversations and chat meetings later, Sam was the proud possessor of not only a fresh social security number and a clean credit history, but paralegal certification in California, South Dakota and Kansas. Dean's background now stated that he was a high school graduate with a few community college courses under his belt, but who was currently unemployed and had last worked as a clerk in an independent general store. They weren't perfect fake lives, and that was what made them realistic, or so Holly had assured him. While she'd been poking around in various databases she'd wiped any mentions of their criminal records, too, right down to their mug shots from Little Rock.

"I can't do anything about all the possible hard copies of info on you boys out there," she'd warned him, "but all _virtual_ aspects of your checkered pasts are now sparkling clean. Enjoy, and try not to mess these ones up too badly, eh?"

Sam went proudly to see Dean. Pulling him away from Cas for a few minutes, (more difficult than it sounded) he showed him how they were all officially real boys now.

Later, after a celebratory jello (hospital food officially sucked; Dean declared the jello would have been much better as a shot, and it was bad enough that Sam agreed—I mean, how do you screw up _jello_?), Sam left them to their own devices again and took a stroll around the far-too-familiar hospital hallways.

He silently said goodbye to the place, glad to be nearly gone and also glad to have been there in the first place. Things probably weren't going to be any easier after they left – living in a hotel, looking for a job, probably still dealing with hunts – but his heart felt lighter. His brother(s) were doing much better: Dean had the sign he'd wanted so badly, Cas was stabilizing.

They'd handle the rest. They always did.

Rounding a corner to head back toward Cas's room, Sam all but ran over Dr. Donovan. "Whoa!" she laughed. "Just the man I was looking for."

"Hey," he grinned in real delight, "sorry for crashing into you like that, but I'm glad I ran into you, too." His brief snatches of conversation with Dr. Donovan between her duties had made the long hours of sitting around the hospital, alternating between worrying about Castiel and watching Dean moon, bearable, and he'd wanted a chance to say good bye privately before Cas's release. "Looks like we'll be leaving in a day or so. I just wanted to thank you so much for everything you've done, for Cas and Dean, and for me."

"Yeah," she said, and there was a flicker of something he couldn't quite read on her face. "Actually, there was something about that I'd like to discuss with you, if you have a few moments."

"Okay. Hey, if it's about Cas's treatment, I should grab Dean-"

Reaching a hand out before he could turn away, Gail snagged Sam's forearm. "That won't be necessary, Sam. It's nothing like that. Can we just...take a walk?" She withdrew her hand, almost sheepishly, and Sam found himself nodding.

"Yeah, okay."

Gail led Sam outdoors, where she pointed across the parking lot to a couple of benches. "Over there. Smoker's area. You don't mind if I smoke, do you?"

The question surprised Sam, and he raised an eyebrow. Flushing, Gail said, "Yeah, I know, doctor, smoking, very bad example to my patients." She tilted her head to the side and tugged at her shirt collar, revealing a shiny square on the juncture of her neck and left shoulder. "I'm trying to quit, but sometimes I just..." Straightening up, she said, "Never mind, I don't-"

"It's fine," Sam said at the same time. They both lapsed into silence until he ventured to say, "I don't care, really. Unless you _need_ me to care, and tell you what an awful habit it is and how your lungs suffer from carcinogens every time you light up." He smiled to lighten his words and the doctor laughed mirthlessly.

"Maybe next time," Gail said, already fumbling in her jacket. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, she pulled one out, placed it in her mouth and lit it in a span of seconds. She took a deep drag and said on the exhale, "Right now if I got that speech I'd probably have to give you one back about how as a doctor I know damn well what I'm doing to my body but at the moment don't particularly care."

"Fair enough." They reached the benches and Sam took a seat.

Gail settled down onto the bench next to him and said, out of what seemed like nowhere, "So, what do you do for a living, Sam?"

Sam was grateful the subject of his employment (or rather, the lack thereof) had never come up in conversation before. At least now he had an answer to give Dr. Donovan that didn't make him feel entirely guilty or useless, even if he didn't know why she was asking.

"I'm a paralegal," he answered, shoving down the small zing of stung pride at saying that to a well-educated professional. He knew that if life had gone the way he'd imagined for himself at twenty, he'd be able to speak to her as an equal. A bit appalled at his own unwitting class-ism, Sam forced himself to look Gail in the eyes to gauge her reaction. She didn't have the countenance of someone who was mentally looking down her nose at him, which was a relief. In fact, she was smiling.

"A profession that's in demand. You're lucky; at least you won't have problems finding a job in the area. Speaking of which, it's really good of you guys to stay here where Castiel is as close to the treatment center as possible." She looked truly touched by their decision. "I know his uncle was going to try arranging for Castiel to move up to Sioux Falls, but…"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it's so far away. We didn't want to stress Cas out."

"Dean... also mentioned that you've been staying at a motel. While I'm sure it's fine,"-her expression belied that statement- "It's my belief that a more stable... erm, permanent... permanent seeming? Non-transitory?" Gail was cycling through descriptive phrases awkwardly. "A more _consistent_ environment would be better, in terms of Castiel's recovery."

"You sound like you have something specific in mind," Sam said, a bit coldly. "Dean will never put Cas in a nursing home, if that's what you're suggesting. He may have a way to go yet, but he's getting better and we will take care of him. So don't even go there."

Gail expressed genuine shock. "What? No, that's not-" She made a noise of frustration and ran a hand through her hair. "I take from your reaction that Dr. Nelson already stuck his nose in." Giving Sam a lopsided smile, she said, "Kenneth means well but his bedside manner sucks eggs." Spreading her hands in a what-can-you-do way, she shrugged and sighed. "I can see that his good intentions and my tripping over my tongue may have already screwed this up royally, so I'm just going to speak plainly."

At Dr. Donovan's 'no', Sam relaxed a bit. If she had a helpful suggestion, he was willing to hear it.

"Please, don't feel obligated to answer one way or the other, or even answer right away at all, but..."

Despite himself, Sam smiled. "Gail, just say it."

With a huff of expelled air, she said, "I currently own and live in a duplex. One half of it is empty. Would you be interested in renting it?"

Surprise blanked his expression for a moment, and then Sam said, slowly, "I... don't know that Dean and I would be able to afford anything like that right now." It chafed to admit it, that same small tinge of pride from earlier rearing its head again, wondering if she was offering them charity. Sam himself would swallow that pride and accept if the decision were just up to him, but he knew Dean would have a hard time taking a hand out even if they really needed it (like now). Besides that, there was the factor that having two hunters and a former angel living in her house might put the doctor in unnecessary danger, especially knowing something nasty had already taken an interest in Castiel.

Gail made an apologetic face. "Oh, sorry. You probably heard 'duplex' and thought...well." She made an airy gesture towards her scrubs, "Despite however glamorous it may seem on television, not all doctors live in perfectly manicured tract houses or doorman-protected condos."

Sam laughed. "Don't tell Dean that. You'll spoil all his dreams."

Biting her lip as though suppressing laughter, Gail said gravely, "I'll do my best."

Silence fell between them for a few moments before the doctor filled it by saying, "So, about the duplex: the house is fairly old, and has been in the family for a long time. My cousin stayed there with our grandmother until she passed and then he left it for whoever in the family wanted it. So I took it. I just moved back here from the East Coast about eight months ago, and I haven't had nearly enough time to work on all the repairs the place needs, so it's got its issues." She chuckled sheepishly. "Anyway, the house is… unique. So finding the right sort of tenant for the other side has been a bit of a challenge anyway. From what I've seen of you, and your brother, here in the hospital, and when Dean mentioned you were looking to stay in the area…"

Sam's attention had been caught at the doctor's hesitation over the word 'unique'. Old family home, no one had lived there in a while, needing a certain type of tenant— it was probably just years of living as a hunter, but Sam heard all those things and immediately his mind was filled with restless ghosts, poltergeists, and ectoplasm dripping from light sockets.

"Unusual how?" he asked, trying and failing to remove some of the eager wariness from his voice.

Gail laughed. "How did I know that'd pique your interest?" With a shake of her head, she said "It's hard to explain. If you'd like to you can come take a look, and if you're interested we'll discuss the details. How's that sound?"

He'd have to take a look anyway if there was even a small chance of it being haunted, Sam told himself. Even if there was no way that he and Dean could live there. Gail had been too kind to them for Sam to just shove aside the suspicion that had pinged at her vague descriptions of her family home.

"Looking can't hurt, I guess," he said.

Gail's smile was wide. "Great! I've got daily paperwork to finish, which'll take about," she paused to look at her watch, "three hours. Meet me back out here after that and I'll drive you over."

 

* * *

"You did what?"

"I found us a house, Dean. To rent."

"A house."

"Well, technically, I guess half a house."

"How?" Dean asked, as they sat in Cas's room. Cas was trying on the clothes Dean had bought yesterday on one of his rare trips out. They fit reasonably well, and Cas smiled while tugging at the hem of a henley that virtually matched Dean's. "When were you able to sneak out and find us a friggin' house? How did you manage that?"

'How' was a very good question, and one that Sam had asked himself more than once during his cab ride back to the hospital. He'd gone to Gail's with every intention of surreptitiously sweeping it with an EMF and, if finding a spirit, figuring out a way to deal with it, nothing more.

Upon arriving though, he'd found himself charmed with the place. When the doctor had said the house was 'unique' she hadn't been kidding, but not in the ways Sam had been thinking. Before he knew it, he'd told her they'd rent it and was left wondering how he was going to tell Dean about their new living arrangements.

"You know what, never mind," Dean was saying while Sam spaced out. "We can't afford a house rental, Sammy, you know that. We're—" He paused trying to decide how to handle his next words in front of Cas. "We don't have any money saved up. And I don't want to take more of Bobby's money than we have to."

"Actually, we can do this," Sam said, aware that he was probably grinning like a fool. "Gail said-"

"Doc Donovan? What's she got to do with anything?"

"Well, if you'd let me finish..." Sam clearly thought about stalling but seemed to decide that it would just irritate Dean. "She owns it," he said baldly. "She'd be our neighbor-slash-landlord."

At the admission, Dean's face became carefully blank. He turned his attention back to Cas, who now was fiddling with the laces on his new sneakers, trying to remember how to tie them (though it might have been the first time he'd tied knots ever). "We don't need her pity."

"Dean-"

"I said _no_ , Sam."

Sam gritted his teeth at Dean's stubbornness. He said a little nastily, "Would you rather be too proud to accept help, Dean, or have a safe, stable place for Cas to live in? One, I might add, with a neurologist who knows his case inside and out living next door, right there in case he needs her?"

Dean's back stiffened as he exhaled loudly through his nose. Castiel had turned toward them as his name was spoken, head tilted like a curious bird. Except for the clothes, he looked every bit the old Cas they'd known for years. It felt really good to see that.

"Besides," Sam decided to push, "it really isn't charity. At all. In fact, I think we'd be doing her a favor."

That renewed Dean's attention. "How's that?"

"The place needs some work. I must have mentioned you'd done some construction work in one of our past conversations, because Gail said that she'll knock off part of the rent money in exchange for helping to fix up the place. "

Dean gave this some consideration. "What about the doc?" he asked. "Won't we be...We're not exactly the best sort of neighbors she could hope for."

Sam saw Castiel's puzzlement, and picked his words carefully. "Just because you have the worst table manners in history. Chew with your mouth shut and she might not kick you out of the house."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well, you'll have to stay away from the Mexican food then. And if she doesn't already have CO detector in the house, she'd better invest now."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Very funny. We'll make sure she's got all the protection she needs." He added, significantly, "From _anything_ that might be a danger."

Before Dean could bring up another point, Castiel spoke. He'd come closer without Dean realizing, very much in his personal space, and it had been so long since that happened Dean almost jumped. "A house?" he asked. "We've got a house?"

After sharing one of those intense stares for little more than a second, Dean replied, "Yeah, we do. Sound good to you? Me and you and Sammy, living with Doc Donovan next door?"

Clear blue eyes blinked slowly. "Yes," Castiel said as a gentle smile spread across his face. "I'd like that."

A grin forming at the corners of his lips, Dean nodded. "Okay then."

Sam looked like he wanted to pout that it took Castiel a handful of words to get Dean to agree to something that probably would have taken him three days to wheedling to get Dean to say yes to. In the end Dean was too relieved to care that they were all in agreement. Besides, pouting was a bit petty in light of Cas's smile.

 

* * *

The house was in pretty much the center of suburbia, and had abundant trees in the back and sides, which made it feel very cozy. Obviously quite an old place, the duplex was large and white with a tall pointed roof that gave the illusion of greater height than its single-story. Somehow it was cheerful despite being obviously neglected before Dr. Donovan's attempts at renovation.

As Castiel looked out the passenger-side window of the Impala, his first impression was of flowers; although it was October, the climbing roses around the porch still had a few pink blooms. He imagined he could almost smell them through the glass and found himself eagerly opening the door, wanting to explore this place, his house. His _home_. His and Dean's.

 _And Sam's, too_ , he amended, as the young man grabbed his arm. "Hey, whoa, wait up there. Dean or I will help you out of the car, man."

Dean chuckled from the backseat. "Excited?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted, fairly wiggling out of Sam's grasp. "I'm looking forward to investigating this place. I have the feeling that I've never had a proper home before."

This statement was greeted by silence from the backseat and to his left, and Castiel wondered if he'd said something wrong. He ran his last sentence through his head again —as he found this sometimes helped to discover if he'd used an incorrect word or poorly delivered phrase— but found nothing wrong with the syntax of the sentence itself. It must be in the content then, and Castiel frowned.

"I didn't mean to make either one of you uncomfortable," he said.

"No, no way!" Dean said, a little too cheerily. He and Sam piled out of the car, suspension screeching from the release of their weight. Dean opened Castiel's door and held out an arm in a mockery of decades-gone chivalry.

Castiel could hear Sam snort in obvious amusement from somewhere behind them, but when he spoke his words were serious. "This is kind of a first for us too, Cas. We moved around a lot as kids."

 _You're not kids now_ , Castiel wanted to point out, but he held his tongue. Sam's words rang true to him and Cas was happy enough with that. Accepting Dean's arm, he allowed himself to be helped out, and stood looking up at the house before them, squinting against the bright sunlight.

The doctor wasn't with them, having a few hours yet before she left her office, but Bobby had pulled up behind them. The older man had shown up in Kansas two days earlier, saying that he was determined to help Sam get things 'set up'. Bobby was walking towards the house now as well, taking in the place with silent approval. At least Castiel hoped it was approval; there was every possibility that his uncle would decide that Cas needed to go with him back to South Dakota, and despite the comfort he felt in the man's presence, he desperately wanted to stay in Kansas with Dean.

 _And Sam_ , he added to himself again, as the younger Winchester brother bounded up the front steps and fiddled with the lock, then threw open the door. Funny, he thought to himself, how he managed to not think about the fact that he'd be living with Sam too, until Sam was right in front of him. How his focus stayed on and with Dean, no matter what.

Castiel was aware enough to know that his attention to Dean was not usual, nor Dean's to him. Dean walked him carefully up the front steps, saying softly in his ear "Watch it, Cas, there's one more step," until they were at the top.

The front porch was long, ran the entire length of the house. Their door was at the left end, the doctor's at the right. Two windows were between the doors, clearly one each for their apartments. On the porch was a wooden bench swing that had seen better days, hanging from chains.

Stepping through the door, the first thing Castiel noticed was the fireplace opposite the entrance; it fit diagonally into the corner of the room. "Oh, cool," Dean grinned at the sight of it, "now we can roast marshmallows at home", to which Sam rolled his eyes. The next thing Castiel noticed was the high ceiling, at least twelve feet, and the fan above their heads.

Castiel glanced about avidly, knowing that the duplex had not been properly furnished prior to Sam deciding they would be renting the space; seeing what he believed would suit the three of them was interesting.

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean breathed, "was the chance to decorate more than your girlish heart could take? Look at this place!" Castiel could tell that despite his teasing words Dean was pleased.

Sam shot his brother a dirty look, but it was Bobby who said, "Shut yer mouth, Sam's worked hard to pull all this together."

"You helped a lot, Bobby," Sam put in. "Dean, some of this stuff was already here. Gail said some was left over from the previous owner, which means it's old and still needs cleaning. Other things, Bobby and I went around town to the Goodwill and Salvation Army."

"That's my boy," Dean grinned. "New stuff has no character."

"And is too expensive," Sam laughed.

"But drapes to complement the sofa, Martha Stewart? Really?" This stopped the laughter and earned Dean a scowl.

The predominant color of the room was green: pale green curtains on the windows, plush (though obviously used) green and brown plaid sofa crouched atop a light green area rug on the hardwood floor. A slightly battered wooden trunk sat before the sofa, doubling as storage and coffee table. A low desk and chair (clearly Sam's, as his laptop was already there) rested under the front window. There was another window on the left-hand wall, with a radiator beneath with a short bookcase (also obviously Sam's) to the left of that. A short table with small television was on right.

"All _right_ ," Dean said approvingly of the set, "do we have cable?"

"Uh, no. We have to have that stuff called 'money' before such luxuries."

"Fine, we'll rent videos," Dean sighed.

Castiel was still gawking in silent glee when Sam cleared his throat. "Guys, this is only the front room. More to see."

He thumbed over his shoulder toward the wall opposite the door. There was a single doorway hidden by a green curtain. Sam moved it aside and they stepped through… into a bedroom.

"Oookay," Dean frowned. "Why is there a bedroom right here? And no door. And where's everything else?"

"I told you it was unique," Sam grinned. "It's old." As if that explained everything.

Castiel gazed at it all, taking in the single window with radiator below it on the left wall. The tall standing wardrobe on one side, a large steamer trunk on the other. Bed on the side opposite the window, dresser next to that. The bed cover was a dark gold, the rug a sort of peach, again on a hardwood floor. And there ahead, exactly opposite the doorway they'd come through, was an identical doorway with another curtain, matching the first.

"Sam, seriously, what the hell?" Dean was frowning harder as they passed through it to the kitchen. "Who built this place? You could stand at the front wall and fire a shot clear from the living room to the kitchen without hitting anything."

Sam shook his head. "Apparently this was a fairly common floor plan during the Civil War."

Dean's eyes bulged. "It's that old? Cripes, Sam, I don't think even _we_ have stayed in a place that old before."

Bobby slapped the back of Dean's head. "Hey, just be glad the place has electricity and running water, boy. Compared to most of the places you've been, this is the goddamned Taj Mahal."

Dean bit his lip and turned a little red. "Sorry, sorry. Being ungrateful. I know."

Castiel frowned and pondered this exchange. It seemed to imply the Winchesters not only hadn't ever had a proper home, like himself, but whatever places they had lived were quite unpleasant. He didn't think Dean was being ungrateful, not exactly, because he could see the overwhelmed expression that kept flitting across the man's face, behind the snark – how it was so unexpected, so wonderful, that he barely knew how to handle it.

Castiel turned his attention to the kitchen, which was mostly yellow and sunny. This room had tile flooring, what looked like fairly new cabinets, fridge, sink and stove. The table and four green chairs in the center of the room had clearly come from a charity shop. Another radiator was under the window, this time with slatted shutters. On the back wall, on either side of the sink were two doorways; the left was open and leading to what seemed to be a hall, and the right had an actual door.

"Okay, what to show you first," Sam mused, then went toward the open doorway to the left. They trooped after him as he crossed the small hallway, which was more like a tiny room as it had two large water boilers, fuse boxes, and shelves full of tools. To their left was a door leading outside. Directly before them was another closed door, this one leading to another bedroom.

It was slightly smaller than the other, and newer, Sam explained; it had been added on thirty-something years ago to accommodate Gail's grandmother who refused to share her space with anyone else in the family. This room had three small windows, one on each outside wall. In one corner was a wardrobe, in another was a large dresser with mirror. All the colors were random and casual – yellow rug, pinkish curtains, multi-color patchwork quilt on the bed. The dresser and bed frame were clearly antiques, left over from the previous owner.

Castiel felt a strange swell of comfort from the items, as though their very age was something of great value. He hoped this would be his room and that might mean Dean would have to share the bed, which also gave him a warm feeling. However, he wasn't sure if that was what Dean wanted; he'd shared Castiel's hospital bed until Cas was feeling better, then had moved to the other bed or had gone back to their hotel for the night. So it was possible their bed-sharing was over. That gave Castiel a sad, sinking feeling. It meant Dean would be sleeping in the other bedroom, which was so far away…

Sam corrected all of this with a few words. "This is my room for now, guys. I figured with Cas still needing a little help he could take the middle room. Dean, you're gonna love this – the sofa out there? It's a fold-out sleeper, and it's actually _comfortable_. Better than half the motel beds we've ever had."

Dean's grin was huge. "Hot damn, I am looking forward to that." He glanced at Castiel briefly, saw the oddly frightened expression on Cas's face. "Hey, I'll be just a few steps away if you need me in the night, dude. That's okay, right?" He quirked a little smile at Cas.

Castiel slowly nodded, willing himself to accept that Dean truly didn't want to share his bed. It left a cold spot in the pit of his stomach, which he didn't understand. Yet he also knew now that he wouldn't be leaving with Bobby, that he'd be staying here with Dean. And Sam. The cold spot warmed up a bit and he smiled.

"Okay, guys, one more place," Sam was saying, edging past them and back into the kitchen. "The final door."

"I hope that's the can," Dean fidgeted. "I gotta use it."

"Yes, it is," Sam grinned. "But it's gonna take explaining first."

"Oh my God, please tell me it's not an outhouse!" Dean groaned.

Sam laughed, "No, but until seventy years ago—"

"I get it. They drew water from the well, wove their own clothes, and baked on a hot rock, right?" Dean looked back at Bobby hesitantly, waiting for another head-smack, but Bobby just rolled his eyes and sighed.

Sam mirrored the expression. "Just about. Anyway, the bathroom is sort of… mutual." He opened the door.

It was narrow and long, obviously the same width as the hallway leading outdoors. The outer wall had a single small window that was virtually over the tub, which itself was fairly old (though the shower attachments were newer). A small shelf sat between the tub and toilet, and another shelf on the wall beside that. This one held towels and other sundries. A sink was on the wall opposite the tub and window, and at the end of the room… was another door.

Sam stepped through the bathroom and turned a latch on the other door. It led into another kitchen, this one on Gail's side of the house. They had taken a U-turn and were now facing toward the front of the house again. Gail's side was obviously built in the same bizarre way – three rooms, straight through. It was definitely better furnished, in a mixture of modern and antique.

They were only in the kitchen long enough for Sam to point out there was a back hall leading outside, just like on their side (this one containing the washer and dryer). Then they went back through the bathroom and into their own kitchen.

"Whenever you use the bathroom," he explained, "you have to knock to be sure it's empty. The doors only lock on the inside so unless you don't mind company you have to latch them both. But you also have to remember to unlock them when you leave or Gail won't be able to get in when she needs it. That's the one thing she's gonna be adamant about," he laughed, "with good reason."

Dean saw that Castiel's energy was flagging. "Hey, it's been a while walking around. Come on, have a seat." He pulled out one of the green chairs at the kitchen table and Castiel sat down. "Sam," he turned his attention to his brother, "This is the single weirdest house I've ever seen. I don't know what possessed you to say yes to this place, but for some reason I don't even care. Now I'm going to practice the locking system for the bathroom. Go team." He crossed the kitchen and shut the door.

Castiel wasn't sure what he thought. It was like he'd never seen another house to make such a comparison, so he took Dean's word. Still, it was nice. Comfortable. Warm. He felt safe, and he was sure he hadn't felt safe, unless he was with Dean, in a very long time. True, there were some unexpected disadvantages to living in the house, but maybe he could eventually convince Dean to come back and share a bed. The warmth of another body against his gave him a comfort that no house could.

Bobby groaned then, breaking his train of thought. "Well, I dunno about you kids but I'm beat. Two straight days of shopping and then toting furniture is just about all I can take."

Dean snorted as he returned from the bathroom. "I could go for a beer."

"Well, you'll have to go shopping for that yourself," Sam said. "We've got basics right now but Gail's planning to cook for us all, so Bobby, stick around. She should be home any time and I promised to get some stuff prepped, so I'm gonna go back to her side."

"She's already got you trained, Sam, how sweet," Dean chuckled as Sam shot him another dirty look.

"She's nice enough to let us stay here. The least I can do is help out. There's still repairs, too. I'm earning my keep, Dean."

At this, Dean howled with laughter and slapped the table, startling Castiel. He didn't get the humor of the situation, especially seeing Sam's reddening face and tense jaw. The younger man stalked through the bathroom into the doctor's side of the house. Castiel looked at Dean again to see the mirth was still present. Bobby was also chuckling lightly, so apparently it was something they both understood. He frowned slightly, wondering if it would be much longer before such things made sense to him.

Dean began asking Bobby "what crap Sam has stocked the kitchen with" and getting up to rummage for a snacks. Castiel was soon handed a plate of crackers and cheese (which Bobby insisted was better for him than the Cheez Doodles Dean said he probably had out in the Impala) to nibble at and a glass of water, which he sipped as he watched the two men talk about nothing much.

 

* * *

Time must have passed swifter than Castiel was aware, because he was still picking at his crackers and listening to Bobby and Dean argue about possibilities for Dean's future employment ("Don't know why you don't want to be a mechanic, boy, you love working on cars!" to which Dean responded "Exactly. And if it's my _job_ it stops being _fun._ ") when Gail and Sam bustled into their kitchen. Gail was holding a large covered dish in both hands, and Sam had a bowl tucked under one of his arms and a basket covered with a checked dishtowel in the opposite hand.

"Dinnertime!" Dean cheered. "What's on the menu, mom and dad?" He grinned cheekily, but Doctor Donovan's attention wasn't on Dean; she was staring at the plate sitting in front of Castiel.

Whatever it was about the cheese and crackers that drew her attention didn't keep it for long, though, because she turned and gave Castiel a small smile. "I'm glad to see that you didn't fall into processed foods and pure sugar as soon as you left the hospital, Castiel." She set the casserole dish in the center of the table. "I was worried after all the horror stories Sam told me about Dean's eating habits."

"Hey!" Dean protested. "I eat good. Sam's just prissy. And I saw you at hospital's vending machines more than once, Doc."

Bobby chuckled as he stood to relieve Sam of one of his burdens. "We can argue over who eats better later, but I think there's some food here right now that deserves our attention. Let's see what the doctor brought over, shall we?"

Following a short bustle of activity – where Castiel's cheese and cracker plate was taken away, the table set and glasses of water (much to the consternation of Dean) poured for everyone, and a fifth chair from Gail's kitchen brought over so she could join them – the dinner was uncovered.

The casserole dish didn't, to Castiel's surprise, hold casserole at all, but a pile of thin, braised steaks swimming in sautéed onions and mushrooms.

"Oh hell yes," Dean breathed, and Castiel couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't sure what was so exciting about the food, but Dean obviously liked it. Cas couldn't remember eating much food at all, something he assumed was wiped from his memory during his accident, so he honestly didn't know what he was going to like before he tried it.

The bowl Sam carried revealed itself to be a salad, full of different greenery that Gail named as arugula, spinach, romaine, and bean sprouts, along with sliced red pepper, cucumber, and tomatoes. Sam flipped aside the towel covering the basket to reveal a pile of rolls. Dean gave a low groan, and Castiel felt himself flush, wondering why Dean's response to the food should fluster him.

"Steaks are good. Salad I can work with if we have ranch dressing. Please, Sammy, tell me we have ranch dressing," Dean pleaded, and pouted at Sam's overly cheerful, "Nope. Out of luck there, Dean. It's vinaigrette or nothing."

Food was passed around to more good-natured ribbing between the brothers and calm, non-intrusive questions from Gail to Castiel ("Are you feeling alright this evening, Castiel?") while Bobby seemed content to sit back and watch. About halfway through the meal (well after Dean had cut up Cas's steak for him, much to Sam's amusement, but before Dean started making too many noises about dessert) Gail took a large sip of her water and said to the table at large, "I have to admit something. I may have made dinner with an ulterior motive other than just welcoming you as my neighbors and tenants."

Castiel didn't miss the way that Dean's entire body tensed, nor the way he visibly kept himself in check as he quipped, "Little early in your relationship to think about asking the bride price for Sammy here, isn't it?"

Gail either didn't notice or ignored the edge in Dean's voice, because she laughed. "Believe me, if it comes to that, you'd be able to see my intentions from a mile off." Sam sputtered but Gail continued on, "No, I wanted to make you a dinner to show you that Castiel's dietary requirements don't have to mean that you'll only be eating bland, tasteless food."

Bobby had been chewing on a roll, but at that he stopped and said, "His what now?" It was a question reflected in Dean's eyes, and Gail turned to Sam with a frown tugging down her features.

"You didn't tell them?"

Sam's eyes widened. "I thought you were going to tell them. Hence the dinner." Defensively, he added, "You're the doctor!"

"Tell us what," Dean asked, and that dangerous edge was back in his voice. "Is there something wrong with Cas?"

So consumed by the turns the conversation had been taking, Castiel had forgotten that he was the center of it. Eyes widening, he jerked his head towards Gail. "Doctor Donovan?" he asked timidly.

"Oh, God," Gail muttered, running her hand down her face. "I didn't mean to alarm anyone, least of all you, Cas," she said, biting her lower lip. "It's really not that big of a deal. Dean-" she said, after lowering her hand to see Dean was gripping his steak knife so tightly in his fist that his knuckles had turned white. "Castiel is fine, honestly. He's just anemic, and showed signs of possible gluten sensitivity while in the hospital." She gestured to what food was left on the table (not much). "That's why I made steak and included spinach with the salad... and the rolls, they're made from rice flour and potato starch." Compassion tugged at her features and she reached across to Dean, patting his forearm softly. "He'll be fine, Dean. Really."

"All the burgers," Dean said, a kind of revelation flitting across his features.

"What?" Castiel, Bobby and Gail asked together, but Sam's lips compressed into a thin line as he nodded.

"Makes sense. Makes a lot of sense, actually," Sam murmured.

"Care to share with the class?" Bobby pressed.

"Jimmy," Dean said, as if that should explain everything. For Bobby it did, but Castiel had no clue what he was referring to.

"Jimmy was this guy we met... through work," Sam told Castiel and Gail, eyes lowered to his plate, putting a focus on his steak that he hadn't throughout the rest of the meal thus far. "He had a real thing for burgers. Right after we met he ate, like, four of them, like he hadn't eaten anything in a year. I guess he might have had the same thing. Anemia, I mean."

The subject of Jimmy obviously made everyone uncomfortable and was subsequently dropped in favor of Gail's full explanation of meal plans, iron and vitamin supplements, and what foods to avoid for now.

Later, after the table was cleared, Bobby left to start the long drive back to South Dakota and Gail returned to her side of the duplex. Castiel excused himself to collapse on the bed that was now his. He lay there, soothed by the sound of Sam and Dean talking as they washed the dishes. They wandered from topic to topic with no seeming direction, and Castiel was just on the edge of sleep when Dean suddenly grew quiet, then said, "You knew about Cas's anemia and the wheat thing and didn't tell me."

"It's not that big a deal, Dean. I thought Gail was going to talk with you about it, and—"

"You _knew_ , and didn't tell me as soon as you found out, Sam."

Castiel's stomach swooped. He hated Dean's accusatory tone and the idea of the brothers arguing because of (due to) him. In the back of his mind, he had the feeling this wasn't the first time discussions about Castiel had led to arguments. While Cas wanted to feel guilty about that, instead part of him relished the evidence that they (Dean) cared enough to argue about (for) him in the first place.

"Dean-"

"Sam, if you _ever_ find out something that important about Cas again and you don't tell me right away, we're going to have a problem. You get me?"

Castiel could practically taste the charged atmosphere in the other room, and he debated the merits of getting up to "use the restroom" and breaking apart their conversation versus staying put and hearing more. His decision was made for him when Sam said, "I get it. Sorry, Dean, I should have..."

"It's just... what if I'd given him something that made him sick, Sammy? What if-"

"Hey, Dean, you heard Gail. She said there's nothing that indicates Castiel is so sensitive that even if you had given him a whole cake he'd be seriously ill. She's not a hundred percent sure about the gluten allergy, she's just being cautious."

"Doesn't matter," Dean said firmly. "If she tells you anything before telling me, you speak up. I can't take care of him if I'm running blind on things."

 _Take care of him_. Castiel considered those words, thought about the way Dean had said them, and wondered why he felt disappointed that apparently Dean saw him as a responsibility. He rolled over, pulled the blanket up over his head, and clamped his eyes shut, determined to sleep.

 

* * *

The first week fell into a sort of pattern.

Castiel would rise early morning, after a sometimes fitful sleep; Dean slept nearby, not more than fifteen feet, but there was part of a wall between them and that felt like too much. Dean would stay nearby the bathroom as Castiel showered just in case he truly needed help, but wouldn't come in otherwise. He was getting stronger, but he was also growing more alone, which was a little disappointing.

He would also pick his own clothes out for the day. Most things were used, bought at charity shops just like half the furniture had been, but Castiel didn't mind. He had the feeling whatever he'd worn before was also old and used, and it was comforting to wear similar clothing to what Dean and Sam wore most of the time. It had been bemusing the first three days to watch Dean bring home clothes for him and make him try on different things until they found what was best. Sam had unintentionally put an end to that with teasing ("Dean, if you wanna play dress-up so badly, I could dig out that old Sapphire Barbie you gave me for Christmas when we were kids"). Clearly the remark had affected Dean though Castiel didn't quite understand how.

Dean made sure meals were high in protein and gluten free, and that Castiel took iron supplements the doctor ordered. He found he loved beef, which Dean was happy about, but also enjoyed vegetables such as asparagus and beets, which Dean lamented and Sam encouraged gleefully. Fresh home-canned vegetables were easy to get, as Gail had a small garden in back (her hobby) and had harvested them herself. With obvious disgust, and some guilt, Dean compromised and ate his veggies with ketchup ("hey, it's a vegetable!" Dean had said as though Cas should understand what he meant by the phrase, and when Castiel declared he didn't understand the reference, Dean broke into a huge smile which made Castiel's pulse trip).

Dean hadn't yet started looking for a job, but Sam had already found a few assignments from local lawyers (Gail's network of acquaintances was extremely useful) so he was gone for several hours a day. Dean did work on fixing the house though, as he'd done construction work while living with someone named Lisa ("ex-girlfriend, things didn't work out, it's nothing worth discussing, trust me") and Castiel could hear him clumping about on the roof replacing shingles, or banging the sides to replace an old window. When Sam came home, he pitched in too. Gail found plenty of time to bring them drinks while they labored, and Castiel noticed her eyes growing wide when Sam removed his shirt to keep cool, though Sam seemed oblivious. Dean didn't take off his shirt, another thing that disappointed Castiel.

Castiel himself spent the first week largely indoors, reading newspapers (Sam had shown him how to go online, something he had apparently completely forgotten how to do) and catching up on the world. He did various stretches and strengthening exercises, encouraged by Doc Gail; sometimes Sam joined him, though Cas was never able to keep up (Sam was ridiculously strong). When Cas was outdoors, he sat on a bench in the backyard under one of the large trees. The leaves where mostly fallen and the flowers had already finished blooming for the season, but he loved looking up into the sky. Watching birds gave him a strange soaring feeling of wistful contentment that made him wonder how much time he might have spent on airplanes.

On the ninth day, Gail sent Sam out to the store ("already whipped" said Dean) to buy numerous bags of small candy bars for the trick-or-treaters they would be besieged by. Castiel had left the hospital just in time for Halloween, something he at least remembered vaguely.

He sat with Dean on the front steps watching costumed children wander the neighborhood, approaching their door with buckets and bags held out for goodies. Dean complimented each one of them on their costumes, but when it was just him and Cas, he laughingly declared it was nice giving monsters candy instead of chopping their heads off with an iron axe or shooting them full of rock salt. He'd given Castiel a significant look, as though waiting for a reaction.

Just as Castiel was realizing how oddly specific the techniques were, he was overcome by a shivering sensation.

_A park bench. Fallen leaves. Children on a playground. Dean to his right, glowing with accomplishment, determination, surety. Things that Castiel had felt many times. But no longer. Something dark was at his back, waiting for him to fail and to fall. Dean, so beautiful. A work of art. Telling Dean…_

"I'm not… a hammer," Castiel said, in a slow, dreamy voice.

Dean's eyes widened and he held his breath. Castiel was still dazed from the memory as Dean said gently, "No, you're not, Cas. If you were anything, you'd were a Swiss Army knife." He gave no further explanation, but the pleasure in his voice made Castiel smile.

 

* * *

Damn it, they'd gotten closer, nearly found the place this time. Good thing they were just dumb, low level hellspawn, obviously expendable drones with more rage than sense. _Whee! Our first trip out of hell! Let's go look for the angel, but first let's maim and pillage and torture whatever we come across before getting called back to report on our findings._

Idiots. Any demon worth its salt (hah, good one, have to remember it for the parties) knew that you just went out, found your mark and took it down, no fuss no muss. Of course you were allowed some gloating and monologuing, that was practically Villain Textbook standard. So long as you had your foot on their throat – or were halfway down it already – you could gloat all you wanted, then you could go have ice cream afterward. But the point was you did it _after_ the job was successful, not before. _Idiots_.

The pair of stooges lying in a steaming heap one state over from the home of Winchester & Co. were silenced now. The next ones might get closer though, might just be able to work a tracking spell properly, and have an ounce of brains left in their brain pan to remember to make a phone call to their bosses before having their throats slit. That possibility was an unacceptable risk, and as previously stated, risk before the job was done was just stupid.

Might be time to call out the big dogs. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES by QW:
> 
> The duplex is based on a real place - the antebellum home I spent the first five years of my life in. It was in Alabama, rather than Kansas, but similar architecture can be found in some areas there.
> 
> [Photos of the real place](http://i.imgur.com/7BtbL.png) both current and from the 1970's. Currently, it is abandoned and falling apart, but still family property. Artwork of the duplex as seen in the story: [here](http://i.imgur.com/ZvuSZ.png) and [here](http://i.imgur.com/y9ldD.png). Some proportions are a little off. The bathroom and general floor plan are forthcoming.


	3. PART I - CHAPTER 3: Byzantium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which relationships in the duplex begin to heat up, and the boys celebrate the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the curtain!fic is short-lived and contains plot.

****

November

It was mid-November and Dean's idea of celebrating the purchase of their new DVD player was having a movie night with, "everyone watching together, no exceptions" (except Gail, who was at the hospital performing –yes – brain surgery, and how cool was that).

Sam's brother had the worst ideas sometimes.

"Really, Dean? _This_ movie?"

"Yeah," Dean said, with an off-hand chuckle that warned against disparagement of his choice. "It's a classic."

"That's what you said about _Tommy Boy_."

That gave Dean a moment of pause, but he shook himself and moved to pop the disc into the player. "Cas has a sense of humor," Dean argued as if Sam had suggested he didn't. "I just have to find it. Again."

Snorting, Sam replied, "Couldn't you stick to things that are a little less, I don't know, _weird_? Cas is having enough trouble figuring things out. Frankly I don't think he would've gotten this one before he lost his memory."

"No one should go through life without seeing Monty Python at least once," Dean declared solemnly. "Anyway, it's been too long since I had a night, sitting around, watching a movie."

"What're you talking about? You watch crap all the time."

"I mean with everyone together, like a family," Dean said quietly. "Me and Lisa and Ben, we… Never mind." He cleared his throat and stood up, turning toward the sofa. Seeing his brother's sympathetic expression, Dean's own face closed. Raising his voice, he called out, "Cas, you ready?"

Castiel returned from the kitchen with the bowl of popcorn he'd been tasked with preparing cradled between his hands. The bright, psychedelic mushrooms stamped on the side of the milk glass never failed to make Sam smile, mostly because Dean hated the bowl almost as much as Cas liked it.

The movie night had a secondary motive, of course. It was part of Dean's ongoing campaign to introduce Cas to the "wonders of television". Sam had the impression that Cas couldn't care less about whatever films Dean picked but indulged him. Castiel didn't bother to watch things on his own very often. He'd privately informed Sam that it all seemed very unnecessary, but had the feeling saying so to Dean would be virtually sacrilege.

"You want a beer, Cas?" Sam asked, standing up and motioning the man towards the spot he'd just vacated on the sofa.

"Yes please," he accepted, which surprised Sam. Cas didn't imbibe often, being not overly fond of alcohol – he'd had a vague memory of a bender resulting in a hangover so bad that, if he didn't know any better, he'd think he'd drunk an entire liquor store.

Sam had wisely kept his mouth shut about _that_.

"Hey! You didn't ask me if I wanted a beer!" Dean yelled at Sam's retreating back.

"That's because I already know you want one, jerk."

Sam returned moments later with three beers. Cas was settled next to Dean, the bowl of popcorn on the low table before them. Castiel scooted a bit closer to Dean (much to Dean's really obvious delight) and motioned to the empty cushion beside him, but the sofa was barely big enough for Dean and Cas; Sam knew from experience that there was no way all three would be able to comfortably fit.

"Nah, I'm just gonna sit at the desk, work on my laptop a little." He passed over the beers. The opening credits, with their incessant subtitles regarding moose (and eventually llamas) were already rolling.

"Dean, I'm ready for the movie to begin," Castiel said. Dean chuckled.

"The credits are _part_ of the movie, Sparky. Just give it a moment."

A look of resignation passed Cas's features. Smugly, Sam recalled how Castiel's reaction differed when it was his turn to pick the entertainment for the night. Childish, sure, but Sam enjoyed having someone else around who liked varied films. Dean tended to get stuck in a rut and stay there, sometimes for a few months.

The movie was bizarre and frustrating; his sense of humor had never really aligned with Monty Python. Sam couldn't explain half of what went on, and he had no idea what Cas could possibly be thinking, even with his constant questions.

"Is this a political or social commentary?"

"A duck doesn't weigh the same as wood... does it?"

"That swordsman's swing would be ineffective and possibly damaging in a true fight."

That last comment earned an excited look from Dean. "How'd you know that, Cas?"

"I'm...not sure."

This brief flash of recollection was soon set aside in favor of bad singing (both from Dean and the knights on screen) and his brother's laughter at the series of increasingly bizarre insults and pratfalls. Castiel continued to study the screen like a student in anthropology class, and Sam silently vowed to pick something completely and totally normal for his next movie night. Something like _Sideways_ or _Almost Famous_ or maybe _WALL-E_.

Dean was happy for a time at least, but his positive mood was dashed unexpectedly just seconds into a scene with minstrels traipsing through a wood.

"I've gotta..." Dean struggled up from his seat. "Cas, let me up." He very nearly shoved Castiel in his bid for purchase. "Just... shit, sorry, I just gotta..."

Dean excused himself to the kitchen. Sam stared after him then looked over to see what was on the television screen.

"Shit," he muttered softly. Rising to follow, he told Cas, "Don't worry, he's just... it's okay."

Castiel felt his stomach drop. He couldn't imagine what had upset Dean so very much about the scene. The music was cheerful though silly, and the scenery was pleasant – a wood with countless little blue flowers like a carpet on the forest floor.

Cas tried to relax and just watch the film, but still worried about Dean's behavior.

The next scene of the movie focused on a young knight, wounded, stumbling through the rain only to suddenly see a golden cup shining in the darkness. Castiel frowned. How many times had he dreamed of something similar? The knight was surrounded by young women, scantily clad in white, pawing at the innocent man…

 _-just relax and let me take care of you, big boy, bet that pretty mouth will feel good sucking on my titties, hmm – can't wait to ride you, put that big cock in my pussy, get you all wet, baby, so let's – fuck – what the_ _**fuck** _ _did you say? how did you – do you know my father? where is that motherfucker, I'll kick his ass for – aaahh! get out of my face! leave me alone! bastard! screw you, jerk! i'll kill you-_

Gasping for breath and shaking, Castiel put the beer down on the table before he dropped it. The girl in white lingerie had been generically pretty and falsely seductive and horribly depressed. He knew he'd tried to comfort her, mostly in an effort to escape her clutches.

And Dean… Dean had been there. Had been responsible for it. For the first time, he was unsure of the man's intentions.

Worst of all, Castiel realized he was actually physically aroused right now. He shifted on the couch, grasping a pillow when he heard Sam returning from the kitchen, and placed it across his lap nervously.

"Sorry, Cas, Dean's just… ah, I think we'll just call it quits on this movie tonight," Sam hit the remote and stopped the DVD.

"Is Dean all right?" Cas asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, yeah, he just… remembered something he didn't really want to." Sam looked sympathetically at Cas, who obviously knew exactly how that felt. "We all do sometimes, and never know how we'll react to it. But don't worry. He'll be okay in a while. Just went out for some air."

Castiel nodded, not at all sure he believed this. Something about the movie, about that scene, had triggered a reaction in Dean just as powerful as the following scene had for Cas. He wasn't sure Dean would tell him and from Sam's words, the younger Winchester was leaving that up to Dean to decide.

Dean had said outright that when Cas had gone missing, it had been very difficult to take, and Sam had later told him how much Dean truly suffered while he was gone. It was one reason Sam rationed the alcohol in the house, and was glad –as was Cas- that Dean had given up going to bars (so far).

Dean was hurting again, though, and Cas suspected it had something to do with himself.

It was late enough that Sam was ready for bed, so Castiel retired too. He hoped sincerely that Dean would return before he fell asleep. It didn't happen.

 

* * *

_He followed others down the stone hallway, their white robes glowing in the darkness. When they reached the chamber, he stood beside the spear-bearer. Blood made strange patterns on the marble floor as it dripped from the spear's tip. Beyond him stood the one with the silver platter, its cover carved with sigils that twisted and danced. The last held the golden goblet shrouded with a woven cloth of bright blue, pulsing over the barely contained light within._

_His eyes trailed across the darkened walls, finally coming to rest on the throne of earth and stone, where the man of golden light and green eyes sat. A sword broken in pieces lay across his lap and the king's legs bled, flowing down the throne and across the floor._

_Groaning in fear, he fell to his knees, placing his palm onto the thick pool of red. The king lifted a hand toward him and he raised his own, crimson with gore, to touch the king…_

Castiel awoke with a jolt and a whimper. He reached shakily for the bedside table, flicked on the lamp and grabbed the notebook he kept at hand, scribbling down the dream hastily. Then he ran his hand across his eyes, finding that he had been crying. This one had been so real he could almost smell the blood on his skin.

The dreams were getting stronger and more frightening, and he hadn't yet told anyone. He wanted so badly to tell Dean, to tell him anything, but…

Rising unsteadily, Castiel padded into the living room, hoping Dean would be home, and with a sense of relief saw Dean's shape stretched out and lax across the sofa bed. He sat gently on the edge of the mattress, trying not to disturb Dean, but he simply couldn't stay alone right now. Crawling under the covers, he scooted close enough to almost touch. Not as close as he'd like.

Dean grunted softly and Castiel froze. "Cas," his sleep-roughened voice whispered, "was'matter?"

Cas licked his lips before whispering back, "I had a nightmare. You were hurt…"

"Ah, s'okay, 'm'fine, see?" Dean's arm flopped over and brushed Castiel's arm lazily. "Y'can stay here, don'mind."

"Thank you," Cas breathed. "Go back to sleep, Dean."

Dean did, almost instantly. Cas risked moving an inch or two closer until his knees were bumping against Dean's leg, then snaked a foot across Dean's ankles. There was a snuffle and tiny grunt but no attempt to dislodge Cas, so he relaxed and settled in to sleep again. This time there were no dreams at all.

 

* * *

His cheek was tucked against warm skin and Castiel hummed in pleasure. Turning his head the tiniest bit his lips ghosted over soft smoothness, which suddenly became lumpy. Castiel partly woke then, lifting his lashes just a fraction. Dawn was peeking through the windows, enough that Castiel could see a large patch of scar tissue on Dean's left shoulder.

Dean was lying flat on his stomach, arms over his head, which had stretched his t-shirt sleeve up high, exposing the shoulder. The bicep was scarred across broadly in random-seeming lumps with normal skin between. Castiel longed to kiss them, as if his lips could heal him. He would at least have liked to explore it with his hands, but didn't wish to wake Dean or offend him. Dean had never taken his shirt off in Castiel's presence, ever, and this could have been why. Though he had been virtually naked before Dean many times while in the hospital, he had yet to see so much as a sliver of Dean's skin beyond what a normal t-shirt would show. And how he wanted to see, to touch…

Still floating with sleepy arousal and unable to resist, he skimmed fingertips over a long strip of scar, feeling the tightness of the skin. It was all so oddly shaped. What on earth could've happened to produce such a scar?

Dean grunted softly and Castiel thought hazily that he should pull away, but couldn't. One green eye opened, turned blearily in his direction. Groggy, Dean murmured, "S'up?"

"How did you…" Castiel whispered, touching the scar again, "get this?"

"S'yours," Dean muttered, "pull'me outta hell, saved me…" His eyes fluttered shut again.

Castiel nodded as if this made perfect sense. He saw now the scar was in the rough shape of a hand. He was sure that if he put his palm over it, it would slide into place, a perfect fit…

 _Like Cinderella's slipper,_ his lazy mind thought, with a smile, knowing even as he thought of the analogy that Dean would be horrified by the way Sam's movie night picks had influenced him already.

Suddenly he remembered the dream again… His hand coated in blood, reaching for a wounded and desperate Dean, wanting only to save him from something unspeakable… Yes, he'd gripped Dean tight… _raised_ _him_ …

He had no idea what it all meant. It was too overwhelming to think about, and his exhausted brain simply turned away from the thoughts and visions. With a snuffling sigh he slipped back into sleep.

When morning came Dean's shoulder was hidden again, and Castiel had forgotten everything but the sense of a having had a strange dream.

 

* * *

Dean had never told anyone about his dreams. Even when Sam was at his most determined to give Dean an intervention (especially then), Dean hadn't mentioned the extent of his... well, the best word he could think for it was _damage,_ but that made it sound like Castiel had purposefully hurt him, and he hadn't. Dean simply wished for impossible things the way he always had, with impossible longing, and they materialized in his dreams.

They were rarely complex, and always took place in the bluebell forest of Utah. He would wake within the dream like Rip Van Winkle, back against a tree and a beard thick on his chin. Only when he rose, joints stiff and muscles aching, it wasn't to walk forward and discover all those he loved were dead. Instead, he would emerge from the thickest trees into a tiny open space to find a small, snug log cabin with smoke rising from the chimney and there, on the porch steps, would be Castiel.

 _Dean_ , he'd say, a rare smile wrinkling his nose, and hold out his hand. When Dean took it, Cas would lead him inside. The interior of the cabin was always the same: warm log walls, a low-burning fire, a quilt thrown across a worn plaid sofa, a pile of more quilts atop an old steamer trunk, painted bright red. He'd allow himself to be led to the sofa and they'd simply sit, holding hands. In a way they were very similar to the dreams he had of Lisa before he went to Hell, innocent moments of affection shown. The difference was that he hadn't really known Lisa (not back then) but he knew Cas.

The more intimate dreams (Dean shied away from calling them sexual, even in the confines of his own mind) always occurred in one of two places within the forest. The first was what Dean assumed was the cabin's bedroom, on top of a pile of yet more quilts, well-worn and re-stitched and soft against his skin, Dean buried deep inside Castiel, one of Cas's legs bent at the knee, braced against Dean's shoulder as he thrust. In the other, they were in one of the wood's sun-dappled hollows. Castiel's lips would move against Dean's neck, sucking lightly on the pulse point, palm pressed firmly against Dean's fully clothed groin as grace filled him, sank deep into his pores, massaging each individual cell.

Dean sometimes wondered at the differences between the two more intimate dreams, one with a coupling so human, the other angelic, but he never allowed those thoughts to linger long. The end result of them was the same: he woke feeling incredibly alone and wishing (uncharacteristically, Dean wanted to believe, but this wasn't true) he was able to wrap himself around Castiel. While Castiel was gone (he outright refused to think _dead_ , not now) this was of course not viable—

But as Dean jerked awake on the sofa bed in the Kansas duplex he shared with his brother and Castiel… his mind was focused on how, right now, it was actually possible. If only he would allow himself to do it.

He realized the sun was up, shining bright through an open spot in the curtains. He was usually awake long before now and felt strangely disoriented simply because he'd slept a full night. Yawning, he rolled out of bed and stumbled into Cas's room. Seeing the empty bed, Dean had a sudden but blurry memory of Cas crawling into bed with him last night. His cheeks flushed, considering he'd once more been dreaming of the bluebell wood…

But of course he had. After seeing the same damned thing in the movie last night, how could he not dream about it? As many times as he'd watched _The Holy Grail_ , he'd never noticed what he was seeing. It took witnessing a bluebell forest up close to burn it forever into his mind. Now he wondered if he'd be able to ever watch what had been one of his favorite films again.

Just then, Castiel walked through from the kitchen, a glass of juice in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Dean twitched, trying to clear his thoughts, and said, "Hey, you should've woke me up, I could've helped you with that."

"It's of no consequence, Dean. You needed the sleep. After all," Cas smiled, a bit shyly, "you're officially starting your job today."

Dean groaned. "Thanks for reminding me, Cas," he said, really meaning it.

Dean's luck in finding employment had been, not unexpectedly, worse than Sam's. It was Gail, once again, who had proved to be a god-send to them.

One afternoon, as he was taking a break from helping Sam replace rain gutters at the front of the house, she'd approached him with the idea of becoming a CNA After the raised eyebrow he'd presented her with, she'd clarified – Certified Nursing Assistant. She'd gone on with excitement about how working at some of the long-term facilities could lead to continued education in the field, and eventually an LPN license or all the way to RN.

He'd been honestly amused at the idea, but she pointed out how well he'd cared for Castiel in the hospital, and even now. He'd flushed and turned away from her praise. Taking care of Cas was one thing, dealing with a stranger was entirely different.

She relented, but noted how none of Sam's suggestions had gone over well with Dean. To which he carefully did not say _that's because Sam's suggestions sucked_ , because the doctor seemed to believe the younger Winchester could do no wrong. Ha.

Dean explained how he wasn't thrilled with leaving Cas alone yet, not knowing what sort of schedule he'd be dealing with at the (stupid) places Sam pushed for, like a book store, a lumber yard, or the plastics factory across town. He would've hated to apply for something and later have to refuse or worse, quit.

When she reminded him of the at-home telesales job Sam had found, Gail was greeted with a scowl from Dean. The 'telesales' was actually a collection agency, and the idea of calling folks and harassing them for money made his skin crawl. Though of course he didn't say it to her, the similarity to making deals with demons was too much for his comfort.

He did say, however, that he couldn't see doing that to people who probably couldn't afford it anyway, because he knew how it was to be in that boat. The resulting repeat blush made him angry; he'd spent a lifetime being poor and running from the law and collectors, but that was another thing he couldn't tell her. She'd seemed to catch on though, since it was pretty damned clear how little they had anyway. (Dean didn't know it at the time, but she had waived all her fees for Castiel's hospital stay; when he did find out, he would fight Sam for the honor of kissing her feet).

 _So_ , she'd said _, It's the calling customers, specifically, that's objectionable? Not typing, or using a computer or phone?_ He'd said, _No, that stuff's okay. Why?_ She'd smiled, saying she knew just the job for him.

Which was how, a pile of paperwork and non-disclosure forms and background check (thank you, Holly) later, Dean found himself gainfully employed as an at-home medical transcriptionist. The hospital, Gail explained, had lost theirs a few weeks ago and hadn't found a replacement.

And now Castiel was smiling as he moved into the living room past him. "I took the liberty of setting a few things up for you, Dean. I have coffee here for you, and I've put the post-it with your hospital username and password on the computer screen."

Castiel was, if possible, happier than Dean about this new job. Only after accepting it and telling Cas had Dean realized how concerned Castiel had been. When Cas dramatically relaxed his shoulders (almost to the point where they slumped) and breathed a soft, heartfelt, _That's wonderful,_ it convinced Dean that staying home for Cas, who obviously wasn't ready to be alone yet no matter how much they may need the money, was the right choice.

"Thanks Cas." Chuckling, Dean stretched his arms over his head. His t-shirt rode up the smallest bit where his sleep pants (an evil necessity, Dean had figured as he'd reluctantly bought them) rode low in front. Dean thought he saw Castiel staring at that stripe of skin, and hastily lowered his arms. No need to make the poor dude uncomfortable, Dean thought, with his random displays of flesh. "But I think I'm gonna go head into the john first."

"Oh." Castiel blushed. "Of course. I'll just... put this on the kitchen table then."

"Sounds good."

Castiel shuffled out of the room ahead of him, carefully balancing the coffee and his own juice, and Dean fought back a smile, not willing to admit how the sight gave him such a warm feeling. Much as he'd thought himself unsuited for family life, the year he'd spent with Lisa and Ben hadn't been exactly awful. It had taken time to adjust, and he was always on edge, waiting for things to implode (which they eventually did), but while it lasted it had been real comfort, in a crazy fucking world. And though he was obviously going to live and die a hunter, the desire for this – a home life, with someone who cared – would always be inside him.

Damn it. Reading Lisa's Harlequins had been a really, really bad idea.

"At least Sam already picked out the curtains," he muttered, shaking his head. Dean went back and folded up the sofa bed, picked out his clothes for the day (mixed in with Castiel's now, my God how domesticated they'd already gotten), and pushed aside the curtain to the kitchen. He stopped when he saw the table.

Coffee, and pancakes, sausage and eggs. The plates were arranged on the new placemats they'd just bought at Wal-Mart (Cas, on his first major trip out of the house, had picked them himself, and they were mildly awful things with sunflowers on them). Everything was still hot and the sight made Dean's stomach growl.

"Did you make all this yourself?" he asked, amazed.

"No," Castiel admitted sheepishly. "Sam helped. He left as you were waking." Motioning towards the rear of the house with a slight air of embarrassment, Cas said, "Go, take your shower. This will still be waiting when you return."

Taking what was probably one of the fastest showers of his life, Dean returned to find Castiel seated in the chair opposite Dean's breakfast, dumping several heaping teaspoons of sugar on top of cold rice cereal.

"Having any cereal with your sugar?" Dean teased, checking the urge to tug on the gently curling hairs at the back of Castiel's neck. He was absolutely, ridiculously pathetic, Dean groaned internally, if he was even _thinking_ about doing that.

Castiel curled an arm protectively around his bowl. "I am allowed to have sugar, aren't I? Doctor Gail didn't say I _can't_ have it."

Dean chuckled. "Nah, Cas, I think it's okay. But why're you hugging your bowl like that? I'm not gonna take it from you."

He eased his posture. "I ate once already with Sam this morning, and he was extremely disapproving of what he called my 'sugar intake'."

Swallowing the pancake he shoved in his mouth, Dean said incredulously, "You already ate?"

Defensively, Castiel answered, "The rice cereal is delicious."

"Hey, it's all good with me, Cas," Dean replied. Really, while Dean was happy to hear that Castiel's appetite had increased to the point where he could eat two bowls of cereal, at the same time it saddened him, because it was a further indication that the angel Castiel was gone. All that was left was the human Cas.

"Do you like your breakfast, Dean?" Cas asked him, breaking Dean from his bout of melancholy. He couldn't afford to mope about what is and what could never be (again). Time to start working on the files Gail had been kind enough to bring him. And Cas needed him to keep his shit together.

"It's fantastic, Cas." Dean speared a forkful of sausage and eggs. "Really good," he praised around a full mouth.

For the briefest of moments, Castiel's eyes flared a brighter blue, the way they always had when he was feeling particularly emotional as an angel. Dean interpreted it now as something similar; Cas was pleased.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, and then they both moved to the living room. Sam had grumbled (good-naturedly, Dean liked to think) but had re-arranged the desk to accommodate his brother's work. There was a new printer and a plastic crate tucked under the desk with the first batch of files he would be working from. He sat down at the computer (already thoughtfully turned on) and signed into the system as Castiel settled onto the sofa with a cup of hot tea.

Not wanting Cas to be bored while he worked, Dean said, "You can turn the TV on or something if you want. Or borrow a book from Sam's ginormous pile."

Castiel sipped at his tea (no doubt also heavily sugared) and shook his head. "I think I'll just work on my notebook for a while."

At Sam's suggestion, Castiel had taken to writing in a plain spiral-ring notebook. He carried it just about everywhere, in case he had a memory or encountered something he didn't know how to do and wanted to make notes.

"Hey, knock yourself out," Dean said with a smile. Cas relaxed into the cushions and flipped open the notebook. Seeing how far he had to go back for a blank page, Dean thought, _Have to get him a new one soon._ Then he put his focus on the work in front of him and got to typing.

Two hours passed in a quiet haze, computer keys clicking and pen scratching on paper. Then when Dean stood to stretch the kinks from his back, he noticed how silent things were.

Looking over at the couch, he saw Castiel was asleep, head lolling at an awkward angle, notebook sliding off his lap and pen slipping from his fingers. Smiling gently, Dean plucked the pen from Cas's slack hand. The notebook fell to the floor though, and Dean flinched. But Cas only shifted his shoulders and gave a sleepy grumble without waking. Dean bent and picked up the notebook, planning on just setting it on the coffee table, but froze when he saw what was on the page it had been opened to.

Drawings, fairly decently done (Dean's first thought was that it was another thing left over from Jimmy's brain; apparently the dude had been a passable sketcher). But the subject matter was… startling.

A flock of thirteen birds surrounded a round flat dish sitting atop a wide circular table. The dish was overflowing with heavily inked liquid which Dean identified as blood only because of what it poured out from —a grotesque severed head, beard thick on its chin, eyes open and rolled back into the skull at some unknown horror. More roughly scribbled were twelve men sitting at the table. One chair at the very center, directly in front of the severed head, was empty. Behind the table was a doorway, nearly obscured by thick vines of some leafy climbing plant. There was a written word with an arrow pointing at the vines — _bittersweet –_ and Dean didn't know if it was in reference to the vegetation or something else.

 _Dream_ , it said, underneath all of this, with yesterday's date beside it.

Flipping back, Dean saw that, intermingled with the types of entries he'd expected – how to turn the computer on, operating the microwave, a long list labeled " _Dean's Pop Culture References_ "/ " _To Google_ " – were similar sketches. One here featuring a spear that looked suspiciously like the one Sam had wielded in Utah slicing open what looked like a king's leg (at least, Dean hoped it was the leg; it looked precariously close to the guy's jewels); one there of a crown, this one missing a stone, beside it a hand holding what Dean assumed was said stone. Pointing at the jewel, a note: _"The color of Dean_ _'s eyes_ _"._

Uncomfortable, Dean shut the notebook and set it aside. He busied himself with his original task of making Castiel more comfortable, getting a blanket and pillow from the bedroom. He carefully worked the pillow under Cas's head. Castiel stirred briefly, eyelids opening to show a slit of brilliant blue.

"S'okay," Dean murmured, running his fingers down the side of Castiel's face. With a contented sigh, Cas sank back into the cushions, deep into sleep once more.

Dean went back to the kitchen for more coffee. It was only when he tried to refill his mug and got more coffee on the counter than in the cup that he realized his hands were shaking.

"Shit," he said, with feeling. He shoved the carafe back onto the hotplate and threw a dishtowel down to absorb the mess. Then he leaned his forehead against the kitchen cabinet, closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.

Until he'd seen those images in Castiel's notebook, he hadn't realized just how bad the guy's dreams were. It was one thing to abstractly know that Cas didn't sleep well some nights, quite another to see page after page filled with sketches of blood and graphic violence. Some of the dates attached to the dreams were ones that Dean recognized as nights Castiel had slept particularly poorly, and it seemed to have gotten progressively worse since they'd stopped sharing a bed. Thinking of last night, he was sure now that Cas had crawled under the covers with him, probably after another of those dreams.

"That's it," Dean said. He cleaned the counter, poured more coffee, and went back to his work with a firm resolve. Castiel was having intense fucking nightmares. Dean himself knew he slept longer hours when Cas was beside him. So it was only practical that they sleep in the same bed from now on. Dean would bring it up tonight and see what Cas thought. From the notes in the margins of his sketches ( _dream before Dean came to me, dreamless after… no dream tonight, Dean slept with me… dreams all night, Dean stayed in own room, v. tired today_ ) he didn't think that Castiel would object.

 

* * *

Thanksgiving was happening whether Dean liked it or not. Inviting Dean to dinner in Gail's kitchen didn't go over well, but really, Sam should have expected that after his brother's extreme displeasure over what had happened in Heaven.

While Sam had found sharing a dinner with a "real family" to be one of his greatest memories, and Dean had been deeply hurt. Sam felt guilty about hurting Dean, though he'd never quite felt guilt as intensely as Dean. Eventually Sam had come to believe that being what he was – a child fed demon blood, and a fallen angel at that – may have kept him from grasping some emotions as completely as other people. It wasn't that he didn't love his brother, because he absolutely did, but the obsession with family as the end-all-be-all of his existence simply never sank in. Dean… that was his life. Sam understood now, and regretted the pain he'd caused Dean.

Which made him all the more determined to have Dean involved in family-oriented things. They now had the opportunity, for the first time in their lives, to share a real Thanksgiving. Sam was a little riled that Dean couldn't forgive and forget and just enjoy the damned holiday.

No, Dean's grumbling refusal of the invitation shouldn't have been a surprise at all. But Castiel's simple curiosity about the event, leading to Dean's quick decision to join them after all… Well, maybe Sam really ought to have expected _that_ by now. Castiel didn't seem to realize it, but he had Dean very nearly wrapped around his finger.

Regardless of the cause, they were now in Gail's kitchen and Dean was smiling a real smile as he watched Castiel follow Sam around and ask questions.

"Why is there bread shoved into the turkey's bottom?"

"Will the green beans taste strange when covered with this cream soup?"

"The recipe can't turn out properly if you don't follow the instructions precisely."

Grinning, Sam said, "It's not necessary to have every little thing measured exactly, trust me." He put a dash of cinnamon (instead of the one-half teaspoon the recipe called for) into the bowl of pie mixture he was stirring up. "Honestly, Cas, you'll never know the difference when you taste it, and it won't affect the cooking."

Castiel looked dubious but nodded. There was only a brief moment of respite before another question came out of his mouth. "Why is it called a mincemeat pie when there's no meat in it?"

"Because this is a vegetarian version, so the name is just a name now."

This seemed to mollify Cas for the moment. Dean was chuckling at him, and motioned him over to taste-test the sage stuffing as he dug it out of the turkey with a large spoon. Cas's diet now allowed for gluten, but he'd been warned against eating excessive sugar as it drained him of energy. They'd switched everything to artificial sweetener, which Dean hated but tolerated, and Cas didn't feel so exhausted after eating his morning cereal now. (Which is also why the pie was being cooked without actual sugar, and why Sam had had to assure Dean it wouldn't be noticeable when he ate it, so stop _whining_ already.)

Gail watched all of them while chopping the last of the boiled potatoes to be mashed. Sam knew she hadn't been able to spend nearly enough time observing Castiel's behavior as she'd have liked, but seemed to trust him and Dean to report any strangeness to her right away. Yet parts of their interactions troubled her, Sam found out, when she drew him aside, passing through her bedroom and into the living room.

"Sam, there's something about Castiel, I… well, I hate to imply…"

By now Sam was used to Gail's inability to speak offensively or presumptuously, and it made him smile. He enjoyed her kindness, the desire not to hurt anyone. When it came to tough decisions, though, she stepped up and handled things with calmness and compassion. Plus she was pretty in a soft, gentle sort of way, and she seemed to always know when anyone was distressed and she... crap.

He may be in trouble here.

"What's up, Gail?" Sam asked nervously, as though she could hear his thoughts of a moment before.

"Well, I wondered… before the accident and memory loss, do you know if Castiel had been diagnosed with any sort of… mental disorders?"

Sam was literally taken aback. His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline (which would have been impossible a year ago, but he was letting his bangs fall forward again). He wasn't sure whether to be offended on Cas's behalf or not. "Uh, no. Why'd you ask?"

"Oh, boy, I didn't mean to… Damn." She sighed and bit her lip, looking away. "I'm sorry, but he honestly has a lot of behaviors that indicate mild autism, possibly Asperger's. I just wanted to find out if it was something he'd been diagnosed with already, because that would change the way I calculated his recovery."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," Sam mirrored her contrite expression. "But no, as far as I know… he's never been diagnosed."

Thinking back on everything, Sam saw how easily Castiel could have been considered autistic by someone who didn't know him. He didn't grasp what was socially appropriate a lot of the time. He didn't often understand why people got angry or amused. He had a way of speaking that was not so much awkward as arranged differently than one might do in casual conversations. If he hadn't been an angel, it would have been very easy to mistake those behaviors.

Except… now that he thought about it, few of the other angels he'd met acted the way Castiel did. Hell, he used to be an angel and didn't act that way. Most angels seemed pretty comfortable in their meatsuits and functioned well enough to pass as human if they wanted. The really militant ones, like Michael, were so single minded they honestly didn't care to learn human ways, but didn't seem bewildered by them either. With angels who settled in on earth, it was like they took on the knowledge of the vessel and whatever was in the brain became their own. Zachariah, for example, could've been any corporate douchebag. Uriel been a hard ass but one that could make a bad joke. Balthazar had fit right in even if he was annoyingly sleazy. Gabriel – well, he'd thrived on being as non-angelic as possible. Even Lucifer – who'd spent forever locked in Hell, where he surely didn't have access to television – could turn a phrase with a bit of pop culture and not look baffled by it, and when he'd taken Sam himself… Well.

But Castiel for some reason never quite did. Jimmy's knowledge hadn't entirely passed to him. He'd stood apart. He'd gotten frustrated by his lack of understanding certain little things. And while Sam didn't remember him from his own time as an angel, he wondered now if Castiel, as the angel they'd first met, was pretty much just… Castiel.

Now that Cas was entirely human, so far as they could tell, would he actually be autistic? It didn't seem possible, but…

Gail was talking again, softly, looking apologetic. "Sam, if you don't mind, I'd like to watch him, see if he shows any obvious signs."

Letting out a breath, Sam nodded. "Yeah, just don't let Dean know. He wouldn't… he just wouldn't like it."

Gail nodded in return. Now they had yet another secret between them, when Sam had promised Dean he'd tell him if anything like this ever came up. Damn it.

The day was spent eating and relaxing. Dean sat with Cas, trying to explain the football game on television. Gail and Sam played a few hands of cards. She would occasionally ask Castiel a leading question ("Do you think you'd like to go out shopping by yourself soon?", "Can you help me put away these books? I keep them in order by color, I know it's silly", "I've always like the pattern on this blanket, the shapes sort of look like things. What do you think?"). Sam couldn't tell if Castiel was passing or failing or whatever terminology would be appropriate.

At the end of the evening, when they'd finally cleared the table, stored leftovers, and had sent Dean and Cas back to their side, Sam looked at Gail expectantly.

She shook her head. "Honestly, Sam, it's inconclusive. I'd have to get him into the office for a full test, which I'm not sure is necessary anyway." She smiled and patted his arm. "Dean may tease him a lot for his awkwardness but, from what you say, they've been this way since they met. Clearly Dean means no harm, and Castiel clearly adores him," she grinned, her eyes sparkling (Sam knew she had a rather romantic streak when it came to them). "I think we can just let them be what they are. I really hope more of Cas's memory returns because they deserve to have their lives back as it was before."

Sam smiled a little sadly. He knew some things would never be quite the same, no matter how much Castiel remembered. He wasn't an angel now, and Sam suspected that Dean had secretly loved that part of Cas no matter how he'd complained about 'frigging angels'. If Dean could accept a permanent change without seeing Castiel as incomplete or less than himself, then everything might be all right.

 

* * *

December

"So, ah, what're you guys planning for Christmas?" Gail asked off-handedly two weeks before said holiday.

Sam and Dean looked at each other with blank faces, then Sam replied, "We never really do anything. It's just not… something we bother with."

"Oh," she seemed disappointed. "I'm sorry. I was hoping… well, I don't know if it matters now…"

"What is it, Gail?" Sam prompted, grinning. This was a thing between them, Dean had noticed. Anytime Gail wanted to say something that she was afraid might offend them, she sort of stumbled on her words. Then Sam would step in and let her push ahead. It was almost cute, watching a woman so forthright and steady in her professional life show this other side in private.

"Okay. I normally spend my Christmases with my family. We switch up every year who goes where, because we're so spread out – my mom's in Florida, sister in California, brother in Maryland. This would have normally been my turn—"

"Oh, ah," Sam said awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess we'd be a little in the way." He looked to Dean and it was pretty obvious he was trying to calculate a way around this.

Dean spoke up. "I guess we could head up to Bobby's for the week or something."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Gail rushed on. "Unless you really want to go, I mean, but… What I mean is none of them were coming this year. My sister just had a baby in the summer and doesn't want to fly in. My brother is going to Europe with his new girlfriend. And my mother honestly just doesn't want to be in this house," she laughed a little sheepishly, "it's where she grew up – not that happily sometimes – and she's not thrilled I took the place over. Honestly, I'm just not up for making a big trip myself. So I'm alone this year. Unless you guys wanted to stay…?"

"Well, why didn't you say?" Dean grinned broadly. "We're more than happy to hang around and help you eat, drink and make merry."

Gail looked honestly relieved and grateful. "Thanks, you guys. But you say you don't do anything normally? Is there a reason?"

Sam looked back at Dean, asking for help in how to answer, but Dean just shrugged and grinned. Sam winced and said, "We spent a lot of time, ah, moving around as kids, dad's job ya know, and well… no other family and, so… we just never bothered much. Once or twice, some gifts and so on, but not really celebrating."

"Oh, how sad," Gail said sympathetically. "If you want, I'd be happy to treat you guys to a real Christmas. It would be my pleasure."

The hopeful expression and gentle smile on her face melted them both, leaving them helpless to refuse her.

 

* * *

The next two weeks were uncomfortable for Sam, who hadn't liked Christmas since he was a kid, and who had last celebrated just before Dean was dragged to Hell. It was nearly overwhelming in ways that it hadn't been since he was in college. On the road, you could manage to avoid things – you weren't in the same place much, you didn't have to deal with co-workers pushing the holiday in your face, and you could always just turn off the television when the sappy shows and relentless advertisements got to be too much.

Now… he was subjected to it in every direction. Dean was happy to indulge, but at least he'd actually spent one year at Lisa's having a 'proper Christmas' as he put it, so he knew how to cope. Castiel was mostly bewildered ("What is the purpose of this new holiday, so soon after the other? Why do the advertisements claim that a man doesn't truly love his wife unless he buys her a diamond necklace?") and Sam wished he could assure the poor guy that it wasn't that important, but he just couldn't. Besides, Castiel seemed intrigued and even slightly eager, just as he had at Thanksgiving.

When Dean helped Gail move around furniture in her living room to put in a tree, and Cas joined them in decorating it, Sam excused himself entirely.

 

* * *

"Whew, that was tough," Dean laughed, dropping a plastic bag on one end of the sofa as he shucked off his coat. "Waiting 'til the last minute to do your Christmas shopping, you really have to fight through the crowds. Sam better appreciate my efforts."

From his place on the other end of the couch, Castiel cocked an eyebrow at him. "I suspect from your tone of voice that you're being facetious."

"You're learning," Dean grinned. "Like I'd really go anywhere but the finest gas station for my little brother's gifts." Seeing Castiel's puzzled face as he headed toward the kitchen, he winked, "It's nostalgic. He'll enjoy it. Trust me."

Shaking his head, Castiel lowered his gaze back to his own task. He had no money of his own and didn't intend to ask Dean or Sam for any, so buying gifts wasn't an issue. He didn't know what they'd have wanted anyway. The holiday was still strange enough on its own. He was working almost entirely off social media (and Gail and Dean) for clues because he had absolutely no memory of ever celebrating the holiday. He honestly didn't think he'd just forgotten, and that truly made him wonder about his past. Had he been of a different religious background? Or, like Dean and Sam, simply never bothered due to circumstances? It was all terribly mysterious.

A mere week ago, he'd hit on what he felt was a clever idea for deciphering his past. He'd been in the military, from what Dean and Sam had told him, so why not enquire directly to the government? Of course he hadn't remembered precisely which branch of the military, nor where he'd served. And when he asked Sam to help him investigate, the young man looked nervous but complied as best he could. A few days later, after much computer investigation and phone calls, Sam had explained they couldn't get any information released. Whatever Castiel had been doing was so confidential the government wouldn't even acknowledge his involvement. And prior to losing his memory, Castiel hadn't been able to reveal anything restricted to Sam or Dean, so the avenue was a dead end.

From the movies Dean liked to show him, he understood the concept of 'black ops' and 'seal teams' and 'spies' (and 'ninjas' too, but Sam berated Dean for even suggesting that). It felt incredibly strange to think of himself as having been a member of something so covert.

Castiel's dreams sometimes made him think Sam and Dean were right about his past, though. All the weapons and blood, the fighting, the strange and foreign places he seemed to vaguely remember. For all he knew, it could be directly related to his memory loss. He'd mentioned his dreams to Dr. Donovan finally, and she agreed that aspects of them could be literal but most of the elements were likely symbolic, his subconscious struggling to remember everything.

Whatever the reasons, Castiel was left to figure things out on his own. Which was terribly frustrating. Still, he had Dean. That was the one thing he knew to the depths of his heart.

Smiling down at the paper he was sketching on, he hoped that the concept of home-made gifts was still appreciated nowadays. Television commercials pressed the idea that the more one spent, the better the gift. But some of the older movies Gail liked indicated that gifts from the heart were more meaningful, and even though Dean had purchased things for Sam, he did say they were sentimental.

Cas couldn't hear Dean at the moment, so he assumed he was in the bathroom. And Castiel was curious, so he reached into the bag next to him and pulled out the gifts. Shaving cream was an odd thing to give as a gift when it was something he knew Sam already had in the bathroom cupboard. Putting that on the table, he reached into the bag for the other items.

Pornographic magazines. His eyes widened enormously at the lurid covers of _Busty Asian Beauties_ and _Frolics_. He flipped one open to a random page, and was visually assaulted by miles of tanned naked flesh. Fascinated and boggled, he barely blinked as he viewed page after page, feeling his pulse speed up in so many places.

Dean came through the doorway and stopped dead. Castiel sat on the sofa, head tilted, gawping at the centerfold of a skin mag. It was something he'd never expected to witness, ever. Dean was now having unpleasant flashbacks to The Night of the Pizza Man and the Baby Sitter (followed by The Face Slurping Demon Slut and the Not-As-Innocent-As-He-Seemed Angel) and the sensations of heat and cold flooding his body made him shake. He cleared his throat, preparing to ask what the hell Cas was doing.

Castiel looked up, his face flushed and eyes wide. "Um," he wheezed, and hastily fumbled with the plastic bag to replace the magazines. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried into the gifts you'd bought Sam—"

"Yeah, um, it's just a joke," Dean coughed, unable to look Cas in the face. His eyes had already dropped lower and to see that Castiel most definitely had a boner. Again. He felt like a mini-stroke was building, and couldn't prevent his mouth from saying, "Man, what did I tell you about looking at porn with other dudes in the room?"

"Um… not to?" Castiel said hesitantly.

"Exactly. And we don't—"

"Talk about it. I'm sorry."

Dean should've been overjoyed that Castiel remembered these things, but he could only choke in dismay when Cas followed that statement with "I'll be sure to find a private place next time."

Even though Cas looked contrite, Dean's gut dropped like a rock at those words. _Next_ _time_. He was contemplating looking at naked women another time.

"Okay, yeah. Good. I better just take those and put them in Sam's room now, probably not a good idea to give 'em in front of the Doc anyway." He grabbed the bag and retreated hastily. He stayed in Sam's room for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath and think.

Of course, it was just a normal thing for Castiel to be aroused by a naked body. He was human now, and sexual urges were a normal human thing. Dean had no problem with that, in theory. Even as an angel Castiel had experienced those things with – as he'd put it – proper stimulation to the human vessel. It was… normal. Of course.

But Dean didn't want Castiel to enjoy it so much. Or to want to enjoy it again. Alone.

Damn it. He'd spent so long getting used to the idea that his own cock wasn't the only one on earth that he was willing to touch, was in fact quite interested in touching. Then that cock, and the person attached to it, had been ripped from his life. He hadn't given it serious thought since Castiel had returned because the situation had been extreme and Cas had needed a caretaker, not a lover. Dean realized he was still willing and quite interested, had been on some level been waiting until Cas was recovered enough to consider approaching, because he'd thought there was mutual attraction.

Castiel the angel had been genderless, not interested in Dean's body but in his soul. This was a _human_ Castiel. And if the human was more inclined toward _women_ …

Damn it. Dean hadn't gotten laid in a _year_. More than that, if you didn't count the single night of soul-on-grace passion they'd shared. He could've been out getting screwed every weekend if he'd known there was no chance of… but then, he knew that he'd tried that. Even if he could have gone out and gotten laid, he wouldn't have, because deep down he knew it was pointless. Castiel truly had ruined him for all others.

 _Damn_ it.

Dean slammed Sam's door on the way back out. He wondered just how much whiskey he could pour into his eggnog before Sam took it away and dragged him to AA again.

 

* * *

The tension remained between them the entire two days before Christmas. Sam, who was already on edge generally speaking, was ready to kick both their asses. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. The carelessly tossed magazines on his bed, Castiel's constant blushing, Dean's refusal to meet Cas's eyes, and once again sleeping in separate beds… Idiots, both of them. He was so tempted to lock them in a room together, buck naked, until they fucked it out of their systems. But no, he had to be _nice_.

It was a good thing they'd finished helping Gail prepare, or the whole day would've come to a screeching halt. Sam finally caved and joined in, because it was that or leave her hanging while the two morons sat in opposite corners being pathetic.

Dinner went well enough, because having Bobby down for the day put one more buffer between them. They all stuffed themselves to bursting, then waddled into the living room to collapse in front of the TV. Sam had unfortunately forgotten Gail's love of old movies, and of course _It's a Wonderful Life_ was on every single channel. He moaned and wondered if she'd be offended by him getting his iPod and just zoning out for a couple hours. But no, he had to be _nice_ …

Happily, Gail didn't expect everyone to be riveted to the television and she, Sam and Bobby were playing Yahtzee during most of it. Dean just sat back and watched, having the spiked eggnog he'd promised himself (and which Sam knew about, and was allowing under a watchful eye).

Castiel opened up a little during the movie. He expressed doubt that angels required human intervention in order to gain wings, and he found the name 'Clarence' somehow annoying, and even unsettling. Sam noticed Dean couldn't resist a smirk there.

When it came time for presents, there were some uncomfortable moments. Sam had given into the season and had wanted to give Gail _something_ , but had no clue at all. So it came down to a gift card to Bed, Bath & Beyond. (Dean declared it was 'from both of us', of course.) Apparently she'd had no better luck when it came to them either, because Sam, Dean and Cas all got a joint gift card to Whole Foods (and she apologized for not thinking of Bobby, who waved her off with a 'dinner and company, that's a damned fine gift in my book' and Gail looked almost tearful as she leapt up to give Bobby a hug. Sam felt momentarily choked up.)

Thankfully Dean had already given him the, ha ha, 'sentimental' gifts, and Sam let it be at that. He'd ordered online to get Dean two DVDs he'd been complaining he couldn't find at the 'lame-ass rental store' ( _Creepshow_ and _Hobgoblins_ ) and Dean was actually thrilled. For Bobby, there was a new hat from Sam (which elicited more than one thankful huff) and a bottle opener that played 'Smoke on the Water' whenever you popped a top from Dean.

"Classy," Bobby had joked, but he seemed pleased.

Then Castiel rather shyly presented his gifts for everyone. For days, Cas had been sketching, and the pictures were really good. It was the subject matter that floored everyone. Each was a sort of portrait – Bobby as a mage in a star-covered robe, holding a book and stirring something in a large bowl; Dean as a warrior wearing armor and a crown, wielding a flaming sword; Sam, enormous wings on his back and carrying a long spear. He'd also drawn Gail as a healer wearing a flowing gown and cape, holding a staff with a snake wrapped around.

They all sat staring in awe for a few moments while Castiel looked uncertain. Then Dean grasped his hand and said, "Cas, these are awesome. Really special… thank you." Sam could tell he meant it in several ways, not least for the fact that clearly Castiel had remembered more of his past (even if it was still just dreams).

Castiel smiled brightly then. "I'm so glad. It was actually Gail's that I had the most trouble with." He furrowed his brow a bit. "I studied the traditional symbols for a doctor, and found myself somewhat unnerved by the imagery of the snakes in connection to healing." (There was yet another memory, Sam and Dean knew, and an unpleasant one.) "But I discovered that serpents symbolize so many things, not all of which are negative or deadly, such as shedding skin to be renewed, being connected to the earth, and in some cases a symbol of eternity. I feel that you've helped me greatly, Dr. Donovan, in reaching for these things for myself."

Gail did burst into tears then, and leapt up again to enfold Castiel in her arms. He was stunned momentarily, but quickly recovered to return the hug. Bobby gave a discreet sniffle into his fist. Dean sat back, clearing his throat in a rather manly way, not at all having any sort of dampness around the eye area. Sam just grinned until his face hurt, so damned _happy_ that his angelic brother had found a way to heal himself of the brutal wounds inflicted by Raphael, the original healer gone mad.

When Gail sat back, she asked, "Cas, I'm curious, what would you have drawn if you'd done yourself?"

Castiel didn't hesitate to answer, "I would have wings like Sam's and a goblet filled with light."

Sam now knew of Cas's dreams, and knew that was where many details of the portraits came from. The consistency of the symbolism was getting more intriguing. It was like a pattern, something that could answer so many questions…

It was almost anti-climactic (not really) when Bobby and Dean presented their joint gift to Sam: a car of his own. It was the SUV Bobby had driven down – which he expected Sam to use to drive him back home again. It was a Ford (oh my God, Dean had really bit the bullet on that), only a couple of years old, not a horrendous amount of miles on the odometer, and in fine working condition if Bobby did say so himself since he'd personally done the work on it. Dean said he was sick of hearing him whine about taking the bus to jobs when he couldn't use the Impala (and that was _such_ a lie, Sam didn't whine at all, unless it was snowing).

Sam was literally twitching like an eager puppy. He'd never had a car of his own (except the year he was soulless, which he preferred to forget when possible) and this was just the best damned Christmas EVER. He was so on-board with the holiday now he couldn't even stop smiling. In an effort to keep Sam from bursting, Bobby and Gail went with him to take the first drive around town.

Leaving Dean and Castiel alone for the first time in days.

Dean smiled softly at Cas, sitting beside him on Gail's sofa. It didn't matter if Cas was interested in him that way or not. Dean was just glad his memory was returning and that he was healthy and seemed happy. God, what a sap this day had turned him into.

"Oh, hey, almost forgot your gift," he said suddenly, reaching into his back pocket. "Here."

Castiel opened the wrapped item, which turned out to be a bracelet, about two inches wide, of soft brown leather with a brass clasp. It was inscribed with strange symbols – some looked familiar, but he couldn't place them. In the center was a lightweight metal object, painted blue and white, which resembled a hand with an eye on the palm. Castiel gave Dean a puzzled look, but only said, "It's beautiful, Dean."

Dean's mouth quirked a little and he lowered his eyes. "This, ah, it's like something you wore before, and I guess it got lost. I figured you might like a replacement…" It was the first flat-out lie he'd told Cas, and he didn't realize how much it would ache. Still, the runes, sigils and _hamsa_ amulet were for Castiel's protection.

Castiel put it on his left wrist and admired it for a moment. His eyes unfocused as he began to remember-

"You gave me a necklace once," he said softly, distantly. "You wore it yourself for a very long time, then gave it to me because...because I asked you if I could." Castiel touched his breastbone with a jolt. "My scar. It came from the necklace."

Dean released the breath he'd been holding. "You didn't have it before you showed up again, so I really don't know how it happened." (Not a complete lie, but still…) "But the amulet wasn't with you, so I guess it's long gone."

Cas nodded, biting his lip. He rubbed the scar for a moment, as if trying to make it give him answers, then turned his attention back to the bracelet. "Thank you, Dean. I promise I won't lose this one."

Castiel took Dean's hand in his own, squeezing gently, and met his eyes with intensity for the first time in days. A shiver ran all through Dean's body as Cas's gaze drew him in. For a moment, they were back in time, staring into one another, compelled and captive.

Dean glanced down, the quickest flicker, to Cas's lips and, unconsciously as ever, licked his own. Castiel's resultant blush and tiny smile let Dean know the truth – Cas _was_ interested. Maybe he liked girls, maybe he didn't, whatever. Didn't matter either way, because he did like _Dean_ , which as far as the older Winchester was concerned was all that mattered. Of course he still wasn't quite Castiel, yet... so…

His train of thought was lost when Cas's lips met his. Certain and gentle, moving just enough to make Dean want more, now. With a soft moan, Dean pulled Castiel closer and pushed their mouths together harder. Castiel wasn't shy the way Dean had always expected he would be; his hands were roaming already, gripping Dean's shirt at his back, tugging at Dean's hair. It was only a matter of moments before he'd pulled Dean forward and they were flat out on Gail's sofa.

Dean had only had a little booze but he felt completely drunk now. Castiel was delicious, and felt absolutely incredible underneath him. He fucked his tongue into Dean's mouth like he couldn't get far enough down his throat, devouring him. Dean groaned desperately and slid one leg between Castiel's, pushing hard with his hips. He was rewarded with a gasping moan, followed by Cas's legs clinging to him, pelvis twisting up.

The feel of Cas's dick, hot as the sun, straining in his jeans and trying to reach out to Dean's own… Dean could only whimper in a very unmanly way, and answer that demand by grinding down, again and again, sucking on Cas's throat until it purpled. So close already. It seemed Cas wasn't far behind either—

"Holy mother of God!" Bobby yelped.

Dean leapt off of Cas like he'd been scalded, and they both struggled to comport themselves. _How the hell_ had everyone come home without Dean noticing? Bobby, Sam and Gail were still outside on the porch, having jerked backward the second it was obvious what was happening on the sofa. But they could be heard clearly through the partly opened door.

"Damn it, Sam, you said they weren't _doing_ this!" Bobby all but whined.

"They weren't! Well, I _thought_."

"Really?" asked Gail. "Aren't they together now? Or have I missed something?"

"Well, ah, I'm not sure exactly how 'together' they are yet. It's complicated."

"My _eyes_ … I feel like Pamela," Bobby moaned.

"Okay, that was in poor taste," Sam grumbled. "But I know what you mean…"

"Who was-?" Gail began.

"Um. Old friend. Went blind." Bobby sounded embarrassed now. "Sorry, guys, I'm just traumatized."

"Ah, do you think they're decent now?" Sam asked. "It's getting pretty damned cold out here."

"For God's sake, we can hear you," Dean griped. "Just come in already."

They edged into the room, looking as embarrassed as Dean and Castiel. Well, maybe not as much as Cas. He was bright red and unable to look anyone in the eye.

Gail cleared her throat. "Well, perhaps we should all call it a night?"

It was a very uncomfortable night for everyone. Castiel was too humiliated to let Dean into bed with him so Dean had to take the sofa, which he had to share with Bobby who'd though he'd be sleeping there alone. When Sam offered to let Cas and Dean have his room for the night, he was greeted with an icy glare from his brother and red-faced silence from Cas, then lay in bed feeling guilty for hours.

Gail slept well enough, grinning into her pillow, pleased to know the boys were on their way to renewing their love affair. Unknowing how very different it already was.

 

* * *

New Year's Eve.

The doctor had convinced the moose to walk a few blocks down the street for the midnight countdown, to watch fireworks being set off by kids allowed to stay up way too late and play with explosives. Be funny if a finger or two got blasted off, always was.

The other two stayed inside and curled up in front of their fireplace, popped a little moderately-priced domestic non-vintage faux-bubbly, toasted each other's health, and attempted to shoot off some fireworks of their own. Took too much time lighting the fuses though, since the others came back home early and interrupted. Poor things, those balls must be absolutely indigo by now.

Fucking Christ. All four of them wanted it so bad, and it was damned boring waiting for them to get their shit together. It was tempting to try and sneak a little sex spell past their protections, since they weren't actually guarding against anything like that. Try to heat the tension up to _Pon_ _Farr_ levels, and then video the resulting greased-up bi-gay-het-incest-and-friend pig pile. Any other spells though… clever little bastards had themselves covered. Managed to cover the doctor without her knowing.

But it was their souls that really made them so interesting. Yeah, even the doctor.

Dean Winchester. Mmm, juicy. Nearly a demon once, his soul almost crushed into black smoke, then pieced back together by an angel. Meant to be the vessel for an archangel. Been to heaven and back more times than he knew. Tainted as sin but, somehow, always shiny under the tarnish.

Sam Winchester. Demon-child fallen-angel former-vessel whatever-the-hell he was now, that nearly damned soul was as strong as his chiseled body, and tingling with energy. All that Sampson-like strength was pretty much untouchable now. Pity.

And Castiel. That was the freshest, most mouth-watering piece alive. Fresh baked, right out of the oven. A brand new soul with the price tag still on it. Damn, what it must be worth in the right market. And so sparkly and full of power he didn't even understand. Must be like licking a nine-volt, getting a taste of that pretty soul.

He had gone ka-blooey out in the desert, made a crater of himself. Except for the fragments that made a forest. Have to admit, it was pretty. If you like that sort of scene.

Now, for whatever reason, he was back and shining like a beacon in the darkness. A beacon _for_ the darkness. The hungry, greedy bastards that wanted him all for themselves…

_Well, they can't fucking have him. I called dibs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:  
>  **\- Both authors are well-acquainted with specific mental disorders on a very personal level. As well, we mean no disrespect to anyone with the disorders mentioned, nor to anyone who has loved ones with those disorders. You can read about[Asperger's syndrome here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asperger_syndrome)**
> 
> \- Here is what [Castiel's bracelet](http://i.imgur.com/sreCQ.png) looks like. Read more about the [hamsa symbol here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hamsa).


	4. PART I - CHAPTER 4: Disappearing Skin Tight Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel learns the truth the hard way, and meets a ghost of his past.

January

Castiel trembled as Dean licked his throat, trailing a tongue that felt like fire across his skin. There wasn't an inch of his body that wasn't aching and begging for Dean's touch. He felt like he'd been waiting an eternity for this.

For a week they'd been trying to sneak time where they felt safe enough to touch each other. Every time they got more than ten minutes alone, got halfway to removing clothing and getting skin to skin, something interfered. It was like roommates, neighbors, phone calls, postal carriers, Girl Scouts, or freaking Jehovah's Witnesses were coming and going every five minutes, continuously interrupting them. And after the fifth time in three days, Castiel had become too paranoid and self-conscious to try anymore. It was frustrating and infuriating, and he had come to appreciate the phrase 'blue balls'.

On New Year's Eve, when Sam and Gail went out to watch fireworks, they'd tried again. Dean had put blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace, poured champagne (or a facsimile), and they'd been well on their way, shirts finally peeled off and kisses had gone beyond the shoulders for once. And Sam had come home early, walked in and ruined it with his disgusted shouts.

The next morning, Sam forced them to trade rooms with him. He literally grabbed their clothes from their closet by the armful and dragged it all to the back bedroom, yelling at them the whole time that he couldn't take it anymore, that he didn't want to see an inch of naked flesh or hear groans of passion, but would they _please_ just screw themselves to death and let him have some peace?

So the back room was now theirs. And they were finally getting to know each other from head to toe.

Dean had stripped off their t-shirts now, and moved from Cas's throat to his chest, kissing tenderly over the scar on his breastbone while his fingertips trailed lightly over the scar on his stomach. Cas didn't know how he'd gotten that one and eventually he intended to ask Dean if he knew. But right now he couldn't have cared less. All he knew was how desperately he needed Dean to touch him, and to touch Dean in return. He was burning up with the need.

He didn't know where to put his own hands, so he just grasped at whatever he found. Shoulder, pillow, sheets, fingers, ear. Dean chuckled as he kissed his way down Castiel's stomach, obviously amused by the desperation. However, Dean stopped after he unzipped Cas's jeans. It was a moment before Cas realized this, and his soft moans died away.

"Dean? Is something wrong?"

"What? No, not wrong, just…" Dean cleared his throat and raised himself up, scooting higher to look Cas in the eye. "Confession time. We've never done this before. _I've_ never done this before, with a guy."

Castiel's forehead creased in confusion. "But we… weren't we together—"

"Not like this, no." Dean sighed and closed his eyes. " _Almost_ like this. Once. I wanted to. But it just… didn't happen."

"Oh," Cas said. He bit his lip. "Do you still want to?"

"Hell, yeah," Dean grinned, gently. "I'm just warning you in advance, because I'm totally making this up as I go and if it's no good then at least you know why."

Castiel huffed a small laugh. He cupped Dean's face with one hand, looked steadily into his eyes. "I don't remember what any of this is like anyway, so whatever we do it'll be like my first time, won't it?"

Dean's eye twitched just a fraction, which Cas caught but didn't have a chance to ask about as Dean turned his head enough to suck Cas's thumb into his mouth. The sensation of that hot, wet tongue sent him groaning again, and before Dean released it they were completely undressed. Skin slid over skin, damp and heated, and again Cas didn't know where to grab so he grabbed everywhere.

Dean finally held one of his hands down on the bed, kissing him softly. "Take it easy. I know we've been doing hit and miss for a week, but we've got all night now."

Cas took a deep shuddery breath, and nodded. Dean's fingertips trailed down his stomach, over his thigh, and finally across his cock. Cas moaned pitifully, but tried to stay still as Dean's hand closed around his length and stroked him. He hadn't even really done this to himself yet, no more than a tentative touch in the shower a few times. He'd been unsure even with himself, as though his body wasn't entirely his own. But now he was rooted in it, and it was coming alive under Dean's hands.

His mind was a blur, lost in the sensation of Dean's lips against his jaw, Dean's voice whispering _That's it, that's it, feels so good,_ Dean's leg wedged between his own, Dean's thumb flicking over the tip of his cock, slicking the wetness around the head and down the shaft to ease the way, tugging and twisting and ripping the orgasm from the depths of his body. Castiel groaned like a dying man, shaking, clinging to Dean, digging in his fingertips until he knew he had bruised the skin.

And when he had recovered enough to be aware that Dean was breathing hot into his ear, pulling his hand downward, encouraging him to repeat the actions on Dean's body, Castiel wrapped his fingers around the heated hardness. He felt Dean's groan rattle through his chest, and though he felt languid after his climax, made sure he kept the pace near what Dean had set before. He relished in the knowledge that he was holding Dean's cock. Knowing that Dean was dissolving at his hands as he whispered against Dean's neck _Yes, yes, come, come for me_ , and the quake of Dean's body, the hot spurt of wetness through his fingers, made Cas feel powerful.

They lay together trembling, panting, for long moments, lips lazily dragging over sweaty skin, ignoring the sticky places until they could find the strength to care.

Castiel's eyes were drooping, his body wrung out, and he barely noticed when Dean rose from the bed. He must have nearly fallen asleep because the next thing he knew Dean was wiping his hands and stomach with a towel, and crawling into bed, gathering him up in his arms. For the first time, they laid together as closely as they had in the hospital, shoulders to feet, wrapped up and warm. And Castiel was drifting off when his hand brushed over the scar on Dean's shoulder again.

He'd been right. His hand did fit, perfectly. Smiling, not questioning it, he fell asleep holding his mark.

 

* * *

Dean would never admit to anyone that while he was wallowing in agony over Castiel's death he had rented movies, gay porn. The movies were, like all porn, nothing like real life and contrary to what Sam believed, Dean could tell the difference. Mostly he'd watched to torture himself further, seeing the things he would forever be missing (not that the angel Castiel would've done these things anyway).

Now he had Castiel back. Or as near as it would probably ever be. Once in a while, he'd stopped to wonder if Cas would ever regain his memory entirely. Would Castiel the angel assert himself and be angry at Dean for taking advantage, for touching him this way when he hadn't allowed it before? But the Cas of now was human, and definitely reveling in the human body. So… well, Dean hoped he would accept that it was done from deep feelings and not merely lust.

There was, of course, plenty of lust, and that was the part that amazed him. He really _wanted_ this, to touch a hard body with no curves and hair where normally there wasn't, with equipment that very nearly matched his own (and he was appreciative of the fact he didn't feel outgunned, as it were).

For the first week or so, it was clumsy at times, still a learning experience for both of them so the playing field was nearly even. He hadn't advanced to any fancy moves, and in fact Castiel seemed to be more adventurous than he was just yet. Cas had actually blown him, and Dean had come embarrassing quickly at the sight of those full pink lips and astoundingly long tongue wrapped around his cock.

After two weeks, Dean managed to work his way down there himself. It wasn't bad, not at all.

 

* * *

Life was pretty awesome.

Castiel had no nightmares or strange visions, and while he didn't remember anything else significant about his past, he didn't mind at the moment. Dean was truly happy like he hadn't been in longer than he could recall, and slept like a baby when they didn't wake up to have sex in the wee hours.

Which was the universal signal for life to start fucking them over again.

 

* * *

There was a loud, unmistakable crack. Dean was up and on his feet in a matter of seconds. He barreled from the living room to their bedroom, saw Castiel sitting on the floor, back pressed against the bed. Dropping to his knees, he slid the last few feet to reach Cas then shoved him down flat, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could shout.

"Shh," Dean whispered, ears straining for sounds of movement outside the house. They weren't right on the road so he couldn't brush the sound off as a car backfiring-

Castiel licked his palm and Dean jerked his hand back, instinctual surprise getting the better of him. "Dean," Cas murmured. "Please let me up. I didn't know the gun was loaded."

Dean's eyes widened, then glanced around and saw his own pearl-handled .45 lying on the floor near the steamer trunk. _Oh… shit_. And on the wall next to it, a small round beam of light shining from outdoors. He'd have to patch that before Gail got home. _Shit_.

Cas was wriggling under him. Dean took the hint, stood and gave Cas a hand up.

"I found it under the blankets," Cas waved in the direction of the trunk that lay beside their bed. "I was looking for a place to hide your birthday present, and I figured you'd find it in the dresser or closet… well, it doesn't really matter, does it?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his arms and looking miserable. He stared down at the gun as if expecting it to start firing spontaneously.

Dean bent down and retrieved his gun, and with quick, practiced movements, checked the clip, popped it back in, thumbed the safety and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. Castiel watched this efficiency of movement carefully, head tilted, eyes narrowed and lips slightly parted in understanding.

Slow and accusing, he said, "You're very good with that. I bet you'd show an equal aptitude for everything in there. Wouldn't you, Dean?" The trunk was wide open, blankets pushed aside, displaying the incriminating variety of weapons – knives, guns, ammunition… wooden stakes… bottles of holy water…

Dean began, "Cas-"

" _Wouldn't_ you _,_ Dean?" Castiel demanded, rising to crowd close into his space. Castiel's shoulders were practically vibrating and Dean wondered if it was from shock until he got a good look at Cas's eyes – he wasn't shocky; he was _pissed_.

"How much more weaponry do you have? Why is all of this stashed in our home? And why the hell didn't you tell me?" Castiel pressed in a rush before Dean could reply. "I could have accidentally _shot_ _myself_ , Dean!"

"You almost did," Dean pointed out even as his brain screamed that it really wouldn't help. A quick glance at the clock showed that Sam wouldn't be home for another couple of hours at least. Jerk was off investigating a potential hunt three towns over – their first case in months – and wouldn't be back until late. Dean was on his own.

Jaw clenching in ire, Castiel ended his tirade with an angry, "What the _hell_ is going on, Dean?"

"Maybe we should sit down for this," Dean suggested. Castiel looked ready to object, but Dean snagged his hand and kissed the knuckles. It was a girly-ass move but Cas relaxed minutely so, worth it. "I'm not saying I won't tell you anything," Dean murmured, pulling Castiel in closer. "I'm just suggesting going somewhere to sit. Kitchen?"

Cas nodded his agreement and followed Dean's lead. Cas sat and Dean got a beer for each of them. He took his time cracking them open and putting them on the table.

"Dean," Castiel said warningly.

"I'm not clamming up, _Jesus_. I'm just trying to figure out where to start."

"I've heard the beginning is usually the best place."

"Smart ass," Dean grumbled. If he'd still believed in God, Dean would have been looking upward and commending his soul to Him. With a heartfelt sigh, Dean began. He told the whole story of his mother's death, something he had told Cas but had skimmed over the details before. He told of John Winchester's obsession with the yellow-eyed demon, how Dean pretty much raised Sam until they were old enough to join their father's quest. He detailed everything short of Sam's (first) death, the demon deals, resurrections, and Apocalypse that followed. While he wanted to be totally open with Cas, there were just some things Dean didn't think the guy was ready to hear yet, and having been a former angel of the Lord was one of them.

Castiel listened to the entire tale without interruption, his dark head bowed. Occasionally he swallowed as if he was literally biting back words, or flinched and jerked as if he recognized certain elements, giving Dean intermittent spurts of hope that maybe the conversation would knock loose a piece of memory. But if this was the case he didn't say, and Cas waited until Dean was done before he spoke.

"When you said you'd tell me... I thought you... I don't know what I thought you'd say. Not this." Castiel took a deep breath. "So that's why. The star symbols carved into the doorframes, the lines of salt on the windowsills. Your tattoo. The bracelet you gave me as a Christmas present and allowed me to think just a..." He closed his eyes, lids fluttering as he another took a deep breath. Dean recognized the signs of a man trying to carefully pick his next words, having just gone through the experience himself.

"Yeah," Dean said, voice cracking from use. He couldn't remember if he'd ever talked so much at any one given time. "That's why."

"I'm finding this hard to believe," Castiel said, clearly discomfited.

"Why would I tell you shit like this if it wasn't true?"

"As I said, I'm not going to say I believe in... in monsters or demons, but..." and here Castiel was really struggling for words, "I believe that you believe it."

"You're telling me you think I'm crazy," Dean said softly, not a question. He'd gotten almost this very same reaction from the first person he'd ever told about his life outside of the hunting community, and it wasn't any easier now than when Cassie looked at him with that half-pitying, half-terrified expression Castiel was sporting. The fact that Castiel had once been a supernatural creature himself was the icing on the irony cake.

"I don't _want_ to think you're crazy," Castiel said softly, "but what else am I supposed to believe, Dean? The average person doesn't have a trunk full of... monster slaying supplies. They don't carve things into their woodwork because they think it will protect them, or believe that salt will keep a ghost away. They don't even believe in ghosts, _period_. I may have lost my memory, but I do know that those things are not normal. If I believe you, then that would mean that I am not normal as well, and I..."

The words _I want to be normal_ hung between them in the air, so thick they were practically tangible. It was something Dean had heard a million times from Sam growing up, enough so Dean should've been used to the sentiment, but the idea that it almost spilled from Castiel's lips made it worse.

"I don't want to believe it," Castiel told Dean instead.

"But you do, at least a little bit."

A deepening of the fine lines around Castiel's eyes and the way he suddenly seemed to find the tabletop fascinating confirmed this suspicion.

"Sam believes," Dean said, studying Cas's stiff posture and the way his gaze darted away from Dean as if he was tempted to run from the room but couldn't bring himself to. Dean pulled out his cell phone and passed it over. "And you know he's about as boringly sane and normal as they get." That wasn't completely true either, but Cas didn't know that yet. "Call him."

"So he can confirm your story?" Castiel said, "Dean, all it would confirm for me is that your father was an ill man who instilled in you both these... ideas."

Even if he knew Cas was saying it mostly because he was freaking, it still rankled. "That's my father you're talking about, Cas," Dean bit out.

"I know and I am sorry, Dean, but you have to see, the way he raised you, what he made you believe... it isn't normal," Castiel said, an almost plaintive edge to his voice, and Dean remembered Cas's brilliant smile upon first seeing the duplex, the words _I have the feeling I've never had a proper home before_. The former angel wanted an average life, badly, had thought he was living as close to one as he could with Dean and Sam hovering over him, and then he found out part of the truth. It reinforced that he wasn't ready to learn the full extent of his past. Dean wondered if the man Castiel had become would ever forgive him when he learned _that_ truth as well.

Despite that revelation, Dean found himself with the urge to lash out. "How the hell would you know, Cas? You don't remember a fucking thing about the way you were raised. For all you know you were a hunter, just like me."

Castiel flinched, hard. Mouth set in a thin unhappy line, he rose from the table and moved to walk away, his beer untouched. He paused, turned back. "Was I? A hunter, like you?"

"No," Dean said. "But you knew Sam and I were. You _knew_ that."

Castiel chuckled unhappily. "And of course I can trust that version of the truth too." He went to leave the room again.

Dean couldn't seem to help but push. He followed, thrusting himself into Cas's personal space, blocking him from the bedroom. "You _know_ I'm telling the truth here, Castiel," he hissed, their noses practically shoved together. "Because you know _me_."

"Back off, Dean," Castiel growled.

Dean pushed that much closer, pressing their chests fully against each other. "Don't deny it, Cas, don't..." Dean was distantly aware that he was close to babbling. Inappropriately, he found his focus narrowing in on Castiel's mouth and the way he could feel the former angel's hot, moist breath puffing across his lips.

Which explained why Dean wasn't prepared when Cas shoved him, hard enough to cause Dean to stumble on his feet badly so that he had to grasp at the door frame to keep himself upright.

"You don't get to do that," Castiel snapped. "Not now." Balling his fists, Cas demanded, "Did it never occur to you that maybe, just maybe, this is something I should've already been told? That maybe these... assertions of yours could've given me some peace of mind? Explained the nightmares that plague me — plague us both?"

Nostrils flaring, Cas closed the distance between them and shoved at Dean's shoulder again, hard. "Did it ever cross your mind to show me that much respect? Or am I just a broken toy to you? A... weak-minded, fragile fool who can't handle-" Sneering harshly, he said, "Why am I asking this? It's unlikely you'd even tell me that's what you think."

"Hey!" Dean was prepared to be angry right back, but he saw the way Castiel's shoulders were hunched, the sheer misery radiating from beneath his anger. "You're right," he said instead. "I should've told you. I was out of line. Cas, I'm..." _Sorry_ got stuck in Dean's throat, because he wasn't sorry for what he said, not really. He was only sorry that he'd said it purely with the intention of hurting Castiel.

Pursing his lips, Castiel nodded. He stomped around Dean and through the little hallway to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean collapsed back down in his chair and stared at the tabletop for a long span of time before finally going into the bedroom. Castiel was standing by a window, looking very young and small, all the righteous indignation fueling him a few minutes earlier burst like a popped balloon. Dean's cell phone was cradled in his hands.

"Bobby believes all this too," Castiel said shakily upon Dean's entry. "So if this is madness, then we are all mad. His exact words were _'It's about damn time he told you'_."

"That sounds like Bobby," Dean agreed, relieved that Cas hadn't tried to call someone else, like Doc Gail. He moved closer and tried not to feel too insulted when the smaller man scooted out of reach. He might have succeeded if not for what Cas said next.

"Dean, can you please leave me be?" Castiel asked, and Dean felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Since his return, Cas had not once asked Dean for more space, even when the hunter knew for a fact that he'd been smothering. "J-just for now. I need to think about... what I'm going to do."

"Do?" Dean echoed. In all of the scenarios he'd run through his head for when he and Sam (preferably together) finally told Castiel they were hunters, the notion that Cas might not want to stick around and that'd he believe they were insane hadn't been among them. Dean had readied himself for anger, disappointment, confusion, mantras of _why didn't you tell me?..._ but Castiel shying away from his touch was harder than anything else he'd pictured. "You're not going to... leave or anything, are you?"

Castiel laughed bitterly. The sound was so reminiscent of Zachariah's twisted future vision of Castiel that Dean tasted the tang of stomach acid climb up the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it back.

"If I tried, would you shoot me?"

Dean's mouth went so dry he was surprised he could still speak. "How can you ask me something like that? Of course I wouldn't shoot you." Still thinking of the 2014 world, Dean knew how Castiel could ask him, because it was just the sort of thing that Cas would have tossed out at his 'fearless leader'.

"I'm supposed to just know that? I thought I _did_ know you, but I find myself proven wrong on some very key points." Taking a shaky breath, his attitude so furiously bleak, Castiel finally said, "No, Dean, I'm not going to leave. Where would I go?"

And now Dean felt much more miserable. But… he was staying.

"I'm... so _angry_ with you, Dean." As if to illustrate this point a flush spread across Castiel's cheekbones, along the back of his neck. He swallowed, throat clicking loudly in the too-quiet space. "If I keep speaking to you now, I'll..." Trailing off, Castiel clenched his jaw tightly. Casting his gaze about the room, he spotted the half-full basket of laundry and in a sudden fit of pique kicked it over. The clothes he and Dean had spent an hour washing, drying and carefully folding spilled across the hardwood floor in a jumbled mess.

The sight of the clothing so carelessly strewn _hurt_ , almost as much as seeing what must be his birthday present – a boxed toy model of an Impala – laying baldly out on the bed as if Cas no longer cared. Dean's heart dropped, seeing only how emotional Castiel was now, the mercurial shift in his temper highlighting the true _humanness_ of the man before him. The _angel_ had gotten angry, but slowly, and only once took it out on him physically.

"I need to think," Cas growled softly. His arms were hanging loosely at his sides though the fingers of his left hand were twitching. "But I don't wish to speak to you any further today. And… I wish to be alone."

Dean's heart dropped another inch and he felt a hollowness open up inside. Things had been going too well. He should've been ready for this, but it still made him feel ill. "Okay," Dean whispered and turned to leave.

"Dean," Castiel called him back, and Dean paused in the doorway hopefully. "Please take _that_ with you."

A long finger pointed at the still-open trunk.

"Oh." There was no air left in the room; that had to be why Dean suddenly couldn't breathe. He shut the lid on the trunk and dragged it out.

 

* * *

The duplex was completely dark when Sam got back. He shouldn't have been surprised, considering it was well past midnight, but it was nice when he got home late from a job or a hunt, and they were still up, sitting on the sofa side-by-side watching whatever TV program Dean had decided to subject Cas to for the night. It was like the gay parents he never had growing up. It made him grin, and feel warm inside. It was nice knowing you had someone at home, keeping the light on for you so to speak.

He stepped into the living room without turning on the light and suddenly tripped over the extended sofa bed. Sam fell onto the mattress with an _oof_ , gasping when his diaphragm struck a bony knee, winding him.

There was a metallic click and then a cold gun barrel being pressed into his side.

"Dean?" Sam wheezed.

"Sam?" The knee he'd fell on nudged Sam to the side as Dean clicked his gun back to safety. " _Christ_ , get off me. Your face is like right in my crotch."

Not needing to be told twice, Sam rolled to one side and laid there while he tried to catch his breath. "Dude, why are you sleeping out here? What'd you do?" He said the last question jokingly, but Dean's silence was telling. Sam sat up and said in a completely different tone. "Dean, what did you do?" He wondered if the anxiety he was feeling what would be normal in a kid who suspected his parents had a nasty fight.

His brother's voice was low and tight. "He found the hunting stuff in the bedroom trunk. Almost accidentally shot himself."

Tensing with worry, Sam asked, "He's okay, though?"

"As okay as he can be after demanding answers and not liking the ones I gave him. Luckily he didn't look in the other trunks." Sam felt more than saw Dean's shrug. "He thinks we're crazy."

"Oh, boy…"

"I think his exact words were _I believe that you believe it_." Gustily, Dean added, "He claimed it was dad's fault, said that he was sick, raised us to believe a lie."

Sam could well imagine how that went over. "Dean, you didn't-"

"Flip out on him?" The shame was already present in Dean's voice. "A little, maybe." There was a pregnant pause. "Okay, a lot. Told him he had no right to criticize my childhood when he couldn't remember his own."

"Oh… Dean…"

"I fucked up, Sam." Dean actually sniffed, in a way that Sam desperately hoped was not a prelude to tears because, shit, if Dean was crying then Castiel's reaction was probably worse.

Reaching out with his angelic senses, Sam prodded gently at Cas's emotions. Expecting the other former angel to be asleep, Sam was a bit surprised to feel a roiling ball of anger, confusion and, buried deep underneath, the type of pain felt at strained trust. Turning his focus to Dean, Sam poked at his emotions too and got exhausted numbness mingled with expected self-loathing. Who needed him more in that moment was clear; anything he said to Dean then would fall on deaf ears, but Castiel might actually listen.

"Dean, I'm gonna talk to him."

"No, Sam, I really don't think that's a good idea right now."

"Well, you're not me, Dean." Sam stood but patted his brother on the shoulder as he left. "Just have a little faith in me for once."

He walked through his bedroom and the kitchen and saw a sliver of light coming from under the door to the back bedroom. Sam tapped lightly on the door, saying, "Cas, can I come in?" He was met with silence but that wasn't a refusal of admittance, so he went in.

Castiel was sitting upright against the headboard of the bed, scowling, notebooks strewn about on the quilt. One page had been furiously scribbled out, black blobs and scratches covering whatever had been written or drawn originally. It was like Castiel didn't want to remember what had just happened, and since he was desperate to remember _everything_ … not a good sign.

"Hey, can we talk?"

Cas raised his gaze to Sam's, and it was like being touched with fire. Sam couldn't tell if he was just sensitive to Cas's emotions after tapping in, or if Cas was projecting. Maybe some of his previous angelic power had lain dormant until it was broken open by rage, because it was powerful.

"Sam, what could I possibly have to say or hear from you, if you and Dean are in concordance between your beliefs?"

Sam flinched. "Could you at least hear me out? Please?"

Castiel glared a moment longer, then lowered his eyes. "Fine. Sit. Talk."

Perching on the edge of the bed, Sam sighed deeply. "I don't know everything Dean's told you, but I can guess. I'm happy to try and fill in gaps where I can. But let me just tell you this much right off – we _are_ hunters, there _are_ monsters, and we try to protect you and other people from them."

Castiel swallowed hard. "Why should I believe any of this, Sam? _How_ can I believe it?"

"Well, _how_ I can't answer unless we bring you face to face with a monster, which we're not doing because it's dangerous. _Why_ , though… Cas, I know you trust us." Sam's forehead bunched up, and his most sincere expression painted itself across his face. "And you're right to do so. We've known you for years, and you've been our friend. More than a friend, in Dean's heart." Castiel's cheeks flushed and his eyes darted aside, clearly not sure of even that much anymore. "Seriously, we wouldn't lie outright to you, not about something this important."

There was no answer, only a deep shuddering sigh. Sam explained, "I do get how you're feeling, by the way. I didn't know about any of it until I was eight years old. They didn't tell me shit, just that Dad had an important job, a dangerous one that he had to keep us away from. Then I found out, accidentally, by snooping around and finding our Dad's journal. It was Christmas, my dad was out—gone on a hunt-and Dean had to explain. He sucked at it, actually– apparently still does – and I spent the next few weeks hating our Dad so badly I wanted to burst. When I was old enough, I left them both behind and pretended they didn't exist for a couple years."

Castiel listened to this side of the story, which Sam was sure meshed with Dean's while still being quite different. The younger Winchester brother knew it would seem that Dean had followed his father unquestioningly while Sam rebelled and detested their situation. He hoped Castiel could relate to the feelings he was trying to convey, even if it was hard to take. Cas pulled his knees up and curled his arms around them, showing Sam how scared he truly was.

Sam nodded sympathetically. "I know you don't want to believe, Cas, but I have no reason at all to lie to you. We both care about you, a lot, so does Bobby. But you're not a kid, or a prisoner, or any of the things you might be thinking. We're not going to keep you against your will. You can easily take off and go wherever you want and get away from us if you think we're insane."

Cas closed his eyes wearily. "Sam, I wouldn't know where to go."

Sam bit his lip, speaking carefully. "You're smart enough to figure things out. I'll give you the money if you want to leave. Dean will hate me forever, but if it's what you really want I'll help you. You could ask Gail for help with finding a place or a job, and you know she'd help, no questions. But I really hope you won't go."

There was a lengthy silence and Sam could sense Castiel's fear dissipating, though he was still distrustful and that was understandable. He also felt Cas's bone-deep exhaustion. "Listen, I'm gonna leave you to sleep on it. Just talk to me if you... no matter what you decide. We'll figure it out."

As Sam was opening the door, Castiel said softly, "I assume Gail doesn't know any of this either."

Sam halted, his heart suddenly thudding. "No, she doesn't."

"The weapons. Are they legal?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Not all of them, no." He turned to give Cas a deep stare, pressing his power a little into Cas's mind, and saw the other man twitch slightly. "Which is one reason why we aren't telling her right now."

Reeling a tiny bit from Sam's psychic pressure, Castiel nodded. "I… won't tell her. But doesn't she deserve to know?"

Sam nodded in return. "Yes, she does. Good night, Cas. We'll talk tomorrow." He closed the door and breathed out in a rush. Oh God, things had hit the fan sooner than he'd hoped.

 

* * *

Dean's birthday was stilted, barely acknowledged. Though Cas did still give Dean his gift, it was unwrapped and the half-completed handmade card he'd spied among their things wasn't included, making him feel guilty. Sam gave Dean a GPS ("Move into the 21st century, please. I'm pretty sure the maps you use were in the Impala when Dad got it"). Gail baked a cake, a round double-stacked chocolate and yellow checkerboard affair with dark chocolate frosting, and even remembered to buy a tub of ice cream to go with it (everything sugar-free, of course). The doctor seemed nonplussed by everyone's dour mood and left after a mere twenty minutes, which rubbed the guilt even deeper.

It seemed that Castiel was trying to pretend nothing happened instead of discussing things, or at least had decided not to talk about them with Dean. They hadn't been intimate since the fight, and Castiel avoided being alone with him now- Dean still wasn't even allowed back into the bedroom- which he supposed he deserved.

He didn't know if things could be fixed, or if they could, how. What he wanted to do was kiss Cas and hope that would make it all better, but he knew that wouldn't solve anything, not really. Dean almost wished that he could believe sex could make things better the way he used to, but he supposed he'd had to grow up some time.

 _Damn it._ Yeah, he was a real boy now alright, all grown up. It was just too bad this particular Pinocchio's wood had been traded in for a vagina instead.

 

* * *

At the end of January, Sam got pulled away for case—an actual hunt, not a research fest for whatever lawyer needed him to do their lackey work for the week- leaving Dean behind with a still sulky but resigned Castiel. Though shaky, things were was far better than they had been between them. Castiel was at least speaking to him in short sentences now. Dean would take what he could get.

Meanwhile, Sam's case was providing much-needed amusement and a chance for overdue brotherly torment.

"Hey, Sammy, how's it going with the incubus?" Dean grinned. Feet kicked up on the coffee table-slash-weapons chest as he slouched happily on the sofa, snacking on left-over hand-cut genuinely home-fried home fries. He was starting to love Sam's new girlfriend, who of course was not officially Sam's girlfriend. For a doctor, Gail had a penchant for the occasional greasy, salty, and sugary food (and cigarettes, though she really _was_ trying to quit) and she loved to ply the Winchesters with the results from her kitchen. "Has it made a move on you yet? I hear that type swings both ways."

"Damn it, Dean, I told you, it's an _Alp_ , not an incubus," Sam's disgruntled voice came through the phone. "And while it does attack both male and female victims, he counts more as a vampiric creature."

"Right, given, it drinks blood. But when it takes it from a victim's naughty parts, I say 'incubus' is a more accurate name. Seriously, what kind of monster comes out of a demon's mouth as a butterfly and morphs into a blood-sucking shape-shifting sex fiend?"

Sam sighed deeply. "Apparently this kind does. Anyway, we caught it and took away its cap, so it's harml-"

"That's another thing," Dean snorted, "what kind of monster needs a magic hat to power up? Is one of its forms a singing snowman?"

There was an aggravated silence on the other end of the phone. Dean grinned and popped another delicious wedge of ketchup-soaked potato into his mouth. Even re-heated and three days old, they were awesome.

"Dean," Sam finally said, as patiently as possible, "shut up. Every monster is a serious thing, no matter how dorky it seems." There was a crackle over the line, and then Sam said, overly casual, "Speaking of, we caught wind of a case in Illinois. Since I'm in Montana right now, I hate to say it but it's your job."

Frowning, Dean said, "Sam, I don't know if Cas is ready to be left completely alone yet. And he's still not really… happy with us." Putting it mildly.

Leaning forward a bit, he craned his neck to look out the front window. Castiel was still outdoors, shoveling snow from the driveway. He'd not only volunteered for the job as a regular thing, but had taken over a number of chores; he cleaned and swept and shoveled with aggression, and Dean knew he was basically taking his remaining anger out on things other than his housemates. Castiel had gotten physically stronger, which made Dean happy, and also more firmly independent, making Dean feel guilty for having sheltered him so long.

Sam's silence was a little too thick. "Yeah, I know but… For this one, I think he should be there."

"Why? What is it?"

"Here, I'm texting you the info."

Dean held his phone away from his ear and read the text. "Empty house, been sold three times in the last couple years because of 'strange happenings'. Sounds like a pretty simple haunting. Can't it wait a couple days?"

"Keep reading," Sam said.

He saw the location and his eyes popped wide. He almost choked on his fries. "Oh fuck," he gagged briefly. "No way."

"Sorry, Dean. I wish I could be there in time, but it's gotten pretty bad and neighbors are freaking out, so—"

Dean ran his hand over his face. "Shit. What about Bobby? Could he maybe leave you to finish with the alp and—"

"Dean, come on. You can handle this," Sam insisted. "Just make sure Cas wears the protection bracelet. He's been taking it off way too often."

"I know. The idiot," Dean grumbled. "One day something's gonna jump out of the shadows and he'll have to admit it's real after it's taken a bite out of him."

"Which is another reason this could help. A salt-and-burn is something potentially weird enough that he'll have proof we're not lying, and simple enough that you guys can be in and out in no time. If Cas helps, all the better."

"Kind of a dirty trick. But, yeah. Better than calling up a demon just for proof." Something that Dean suspected Sam knew he'd begun, in his more frustrated moments, to think about doing. Dean sighed long and deep. "Still. The location..."

"I know. But if we're lucky it might also trigger something in Cas's memory."

"It might... but if he winds up traumatized, I'm kicking your ass and telling Gail what a dick you are. She'll kick your ass, too."

Sam growled. "Just shut up about Ga—"

"Later, Sam," Dean chuckled and hung up.

 

* * *

Cas hadn't been at all sure about going on the trip. He was still somewhat angry (hurt might be a better description, but his feelings roiled back and forth so quickly from one to the other that he was not really certain of the best classification for them, and angry seemed like it should be better than hurt) and pretty sure that whatever he was being taken to do wasn't entirely legal or safe.

He especially wasn't certain he would enjoy it. Why he'd gone at all… well, his reasons, just like his emotions, were mixed. Castiel didn't want to be alone (and he would have been-Gail was out of town for the week for a medical conference) and, regardless of how he'd been treating the man, he still wanted to be near Dean. Driving out of town was a bonus; to be honest, he was getting what qualified as cabin fever. Having no memory of being anyplace but Salina- and not even a great deal of it- he was actually enjoying watching new places slide by his window, even if to most the view would be a little dull. Kansas didn't have much to see, apparently, nor did the next state (named Missouri, which made it a _little_ interesting). The further north they climbed, though, the more varied the landscape became, and the architectural styles of the homes had subtle shifts which he found fascinating.

Cas, despite these things, fidgeted as the drive progressed, the metal panels and leather seats feeling slow, almost confining. He frowned at the idea that followed it ... _a circle of fire... wings... a decaying face_... He shuddered and turned his attention back to the man to his left, who was straining to see if he'd turned on the right road.

Once again he'd found something about Dean that was simultaneously very annoying and oddly endearing. Dean stubbornly clung to plain old regular folding maps to plot his driving route. Dean was surprisingly old-fashioned. Or, as Sam put it, stuck in his ways to point it would take dynamite to break him out (or a swift kick in the ass, Castiel secretly thought).

Sighing with exasperation, Cas asked, "Dean, Why don't you just use the GPS Sam gave you for your birthday."

"I haven't figured the damned thing out, that's why," Dean grumbled.

"If you'd taken more than five seconds to look at it, then you might have."

Dean shot him a tetchy look. "It's not like I have time just at the moment. Why don't you study the manual, it's only a yard thick."

Castiel tugged the booklet free of the package - yes, it was still in the box - and read through it exceedingly quickly (which he knew Dean envied). Within half an hour, he had the GPS plugged in and programmed. He studied the route Dean had marked on the folding map and frowned.

"Dean, why are we traveling the smaller roads instead of taking the main highways? This adds at least three hours to the trip."

Dean took a long moment to answer. "This way we don't stick out," he said, green eyes flicking from the road to Cas's face. "And we won't come across many cops. Yeah, it'll take longer to drive, but it would take a hell of a lot longer if somebody decided I was breaking a traffic law, pulled me over, checked their database and somehow found one of my identities with an outstanding warrant... and then if they popped the trunk…" He nodded backward, reminding Cas of the cache of weaponry they carried. "So, yeah. Back roads, as much as possible."

Castiel swallowed nervously. "Yes, I… I see the point." Refolding the map and shoving it in the nearly-overflowing glove compartment, Castiel asked, "Um. How many names _do_ you have?"

Dean snorted. "Names that matter? One. The one I told you." Dean looks over at him, very seriously, before clearing his throat and continuing with, "But on the road, I can't even count 'em. Don't worry, Cas, I've got extra names for you too if we need 'em. We're covered."

It wasn't comforting. Dean had all these different personas, and apparently had crafted more for him, but Castiel barely knew who he was to begin with.

 

* * *

Roughly fourteen hours after leaving Salina, Castiel and Dean were driving up Billet Road on the outer east side of Pontiac, Illinois.

Dean was nervous as hell. There were too many memories centered around the city for Dean to ever be comfortable visiting, let alone being there for a hunt with a flighty skeptic in tow.

"Okay," Castiel said, "we should be coming up on St. Mary's Cemetery in a moment. It's on the left." Since Dean disliked every single voice the GPS program provided, Cas had resigned himself to being navigator and speaking for it.

They continued north until their next turn, which took them west, into town. The house they were looking for was thankfully not far from that edge of town so shagging ass back out again if they needed to would be much easier.

Dean's heart was pounding hard enough to crack a rib, and he tried not to look to the left side of the road despite needing to keep an eye out for the cemetery. It was coming up, and it was the first time in five years that he'd…

They passed the tiny gas station that was just barely still in business, sitting on the side of that long, dusty road leading way back into the woods, all the way back to a dry patch of ground that Dean knew was surrounded by dozens of fallen trees. Dean wondered if the white cross was still standing, or if someone had ventured back there and found it, taken it away while puzzling over what the hell had been recently buried in the ground outside this Midwestern town.

Shaking himself free of the memory, Dean tried to return his concentration back to the case.

Castiel had noticed the change in Dean's demeanor, though, and in a surprising show of concern, asked, "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Nothing I can talk about right now," Dean grunted a little more sharply than he'd meant. "We don't have time, and it's… complicated." He saw Castiel's frown and added, "I will tell you. I swear." He received a disapproving snort, but also a nod. Better than he'd expected, and Dean felt himself relax minutely. He relaxed, that is, until they found the street they were looking for and turned right.

Dean slowed down as they strained to read house numbers in the increasing darkness, a feeling of familiarity creeping along his spine. When they found the house and he parked in front, he sat there staring in horror.

It was the Novak's old home.

No, this was just too much. Destiny and fate and all that shit aside, this was just _too_ _much_.

"Fuck this." Dean reached for his phone. "I'm calling Bobby. Someone else can do this. No fucking way."

Castiel whispered, "What is this place?"

Dean saw fear edging onto the former angel's face. Could Cas be remembering something?

"Uh, we knew someone who lived here, years ago. And apparently it's haunted by someone who died since that time." He pointed at the _For_ _Sale_ sign in the front yard. "The info Sam sent me said it'd been bought and sold three times in quick succession, but now it's been empty for nearly a year. No one wants to stay because of weird things happening. Reports of power failures with no cause, strange noises, things moving around, shadows on the walls. Typical haunting. He thought we should come out and look because the neighbors were starting to be bothered, but..." Dean realized that Sam must have known. In fact, the likelihood of Sam _not_ knowing this was the Novak's house was slim to none, as his job was literally researching crap details like this. Damn interfering little brothers. He ran a hand over his face, breathing hard. "This is not a typical place. Not at all."

Castiel stared at the house, wide eyed, and back at Dean with the same expression. "We're really going in there?"

Dean put away his phone and heaved a huge sigh. Even with it being a set up, it sounded like it was a real haunting, and they should at least check it out. It wasn't Sam's style to create a fake case just because he thought he and Cas should work things out. Take advantage of a pre-existing situation? Hell yeah. Make stuff up? Not so much. "Yeah, we are."

He checked to make sure his shotgun was loaded with salt rounds and handed Castiel a fire poker, which was regarded with bewilderment and a little disdain. "Don't make that face. It's iron and it's a conveniently shaped weapon. They don't make iron baseball bats, I've looked. But if you see a ghost, swing away. Trust me."

The irony of the last words to trip out of his mouth was not lost on Dean. Tell the guy you lied to for weeks to trust you. Right. Smart one, Dean. He led them around the back of the house, easily picking the lock so they could creep inside. Every hair on his body stood up instantly. Fishing in his jacket, he pulled out a small black box.

"What the hell is that?" Castiel hissed anxiously, indicating the squawking noise that came from the object in Dean's hand after he turned it on.

"EMF meter. Tells me there's damned well a ghost here," Dean whispered back. He pocketed the meter and pumped the shotgun once, ready for action as he made his way through the kitchen and toward the dining room.

 

* * *

Castiel held the poker and a small flashlight, feeling distinctly silly. This was the same way the teenagers in _Hell Hazers II: The Reckoning_ had battled ghosts, a movie that he'd watched on Dean's insistence because, quote, "Tara Benchley is a babe. And aggressive." He added the last with a wiggle of eyebrows that Castiel hadn't fully understood at the time.

The only thing they were missing was the big book the ghost victims had chanted from, which didn't really make him feel more confident that Dean wasn't disturbed for thinking these things were real. But Dean was so intensely serious that he couldn't bring himself to protest. Besides, the longer he was in this house, the more peculiar he felt. There was something tugging inside his mind, telling him to turn and look…

In the hallway, there stood a tall man in a green sweater, thick streaks of blood dripping from his forehead and nose. A wide slash arched across his throat. He grinned with blood-streaked teeth.

Castiel's first instinct was to shout for Dean, but he couldn't open his mouth. He stood trembling as the man took a step forward. As Castiel stared, the man's form seemed to flicker and sputter, like bad television reception. His gut rolled over in fear.

"Hey, pal," the ghost said casually, "long time, no see. Gonna bash my brains in again?"

Then Dean was there, firing salt through the ghost's form, scattering it into the ether. "Fuck, fuck," Dean growled. "Fuck it, I don't believe this."

Castiel didn't have time to demand answers or even to shout a simple _Holy shit, ghosts are real!_ because Dean was flung aside, hitting the living room wall with a force that made Cas grimace in sympathy.

The ghost appeared near Dean's feet, leering and laughing. "And you too? Wow, quite a reunion. Jimmy and the bastard who slit my throat, all at once." He leaned down and grabbed Dean's neck, squeezing. He snarled, "You were too busy trying to kill the demon, to save our buddy's little girl. Didn't stop to think about Roger, stuck in his own body, screaming for help."

Dean choked around the ghost's grip, "Yeah, cry me a river, man. Heard this song before, doesn't change what had to be done." His fingers scrambled around the floor, trying to find his shotgun, but it was too far.

"Hey, asshole!" Castiel shouted to gain the ghost's attention. He swung the poker just as Dean had told him to do, and it passed through the spectral form, breaking it apart like smoke. The ghost howled as though it were painful. Maybe it was, but Cas didn't have time to think about that either.

He grabbed Dean's sleeve and tried to haul him to his feet. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here," he pleaded. "This is too—"

The ghost – Roger – reappeared behind Castiel and flung an arm around his shoulders almost companionably, but rough. Cas froze in horror. Despite having seen evidence that they could physically touch things—throwing Dean around the room should have been proof enough—the idea that he was being pulled closer to a ghost still went counter to what his instincts told him should be true.

"Pal, you should've stayed gone, should've never come home to the wife and kid. Demons would've left them alone, and my wife and I would be alive," Roger growled into Castiel's ear.

Castiel had no idea what the hell was going on, but Dean clearly did. The hunter's face was stony as he raised the shotgun, leveling it at both the ghost and Cas. Fuck, he wouldn't shoot them both, would he?

" _Pal_ ," Dean said, mockingly, "you were a casualty of a war, sucks to be you. It's not fair, blah blah. But you shouldn't be here, either. Where's your wife? She here too?"

"She's gone," Roger glared at him. "Demon killed her when it took her body, so at least you don't have that blood on your hands. Not like you have _mine_." The ghost pushed Castiel forward, straight at Dean.

"Get down!" Dean shouted, and Cas managed to drop to his knees before they could collide. Dean fired the shotgun again, scattering Roger once more, and then reached down for Cas's hand. "C'mon, we gotta get out of here. Neighbors have probably called the cops by now."

They scrambled out the front door this time, and just as Castiel hit the pavement at the bottom of the stairs, he gasped in alarm.

Dean turned back to see Cas was frozen to the spot, face slack and eyes unfocused, staring upward at nothing. Heart clenching, he took Cas's shoulder, shook him hard. "Cas! What's happening?"

And Cas snapped free, blinking and gasping again. "Dean, I saw—"

"No time! Tell me in the car!" He hauled Cas forward, and they threw themselves into the Impala. Screeching down the quiet road, Dean hoped like hell they would make it back to the cemetery without being caught.

Driving as quickly as he could without raising suspicion, they left town the way they'd come. When it was clear they weren't being followed, Dean sighed with cautious relief.

Cas was too quiet. Dean reached over and nudged Cas's elbow. "Hey, man. I need you with me, here. We've got some work ahead of us still."

Castiel turned his head to stare at Dean, cold and flat. "I know who that man was. His name was Roger Perkins. How do I know that?"

Dean bit his lip, debating how much to tell Cas. "Part of you, in the past, lived in that house. That man was a neighbor. He was possessed by a demon that tried to kill a little kid, and I killed the demon. And, unfortunately, the guy it was riding in." He glanced over at Castiel's still and frowning face. "Sometimes it's unavoidable. We don't exactly enjoy it."

Very slowly, Castiel nodded and turned his eyes toward the road ahead. "Yes, I understand. To rescue some, we lose others. It's not very balanced, is it?"

Dean grimaced at the silent but obvious sarcasm. "Sometimes it doesn't feel that way. But, believe me, in the long run we save more folks than we lose." He considered the entire world that _hadn't_ ended, several times. "Way more."

The rest of the drive was silent, and fortunately short. Dean knew the silence wouldn't last forever; there were too many things Roger said that Castiel would have questions about when he thought to ask them. They searched the cemetery quickly, located the Perkins' plot (Roger and Anita, side by side), and set to digging. Castiel stayed silent through the whole process, and when the grave was open, the body salted and burning, Cas just stood staring at it. His face was an unfeeling mask; probably he was in shock.

"Cas," Dean ventured gently, "I know this shit isn't what you were expecting. I know you didn't want to… to believe us. But lying to you didn't help. These things, and worse, would've come to us eventually. They always do."

 

* * *

Castiel rubbed his wrist above the bracelet that Dean had given him, which apparently protected him from so many things he'd never seen. He had a lot to think about.

The corpse was still burning, and his nostrils were filled with the acrid smoke coupled with the disquieting aroma of moldy grave dirt. Cas huffed out a breath as he stepped back from the pit. "I'm just going to walk over here." He pointed to a nearby headstone large enough to sit on. "I'm not running away," he said woodenly. He saw Dean visibly cringe at that. _Good_.

Cas sat turned away from the fire. The cold of the stone quickly seeped through his jeans, into his bones. His whole concept of the world had been reversed in one hour. It was bad enough that he didn't remember his previous life—a life in which he apparently had a wife and a child which Dean had failed to tell him about, and no, he wasn't going to let that go either, what if they were out there and waiting for him and wondering if he was okay and he needed to just _think_ —and now he had to somehow accept that this life wouldn't be normal either. Hadn't been, right from the start.

His breath shuddered out in a white cloud. Suddenly it seemed the very air twisted in front of his eyes. Tiny sparks at the edges of his vision made him squint ahead into the darkness. A pinpoint of light was in the air, golden and sharp. It swelled into a fist-sized glow, filling his vision with warmth and a sense of grace. As he stared, open mouthed in wonder, it coalesced into a shape. A goblet.

Compelled, Castiel stepped away from the headstone and walked toward the light. Dean noticed instantly and barked, "Hey!" before following him.

But Castiel didn't stop until he'd reached the spot. It was another headstone, a tall one carved into a sort of tower with an opening at the top, and a small roof held up by four thin pillars. Inside between these was the goblet, still pulsing with golden light. He reached upward to grasp at it, but it was just beyond his fingertips.

"What are you doing?" Dean hissed, grabbing his arm and tugging him down. He hadn't even realized he was trying to climb the tower. "Man, are you okay?"

Castiel blinked at him, then looked back upward and saw the glow was gone. There was a vaguely goblet shaped decoration between the pillars, but nothing like what he'd seen.

"I saw… It was a cup. It glowed. I needed to touch it. I thought it was…" He knew he was babbling then.

Dean's worried face finally broke the spell and Castiel sighed, following him back to the grave where the fire had sputtered out. Together they quickly shoveled dirt back into the hole, packed up and drove away.

 

* * *

Dean put a healthy thirty miles behind them before he stopped, pulling into the parking lot of a tiny motel. He got a room and led a very silent Cas inside.

"We're both wiped. I know you need answers and some sleep, but sitting around in graveyard dirt isn't the way. Go on, you get first dibs on the shower." Dean pushed Castiel toward the bathroom and shut the door.

He listened to the sound of water spray and wondered just how badly he'd managed to crack Cas's brain tonight. If the hallucination was an indicator, he might have to talk to Dr. Gail when they got home and boy was _that_ a conversation he wasn't eager to have.

The water shut off. Cas came out of the bathroom wrapped in only a towel.

The sight of him, dark hair wet and mussed, his pale skin just a little pink from the steam, was enough to make Dean groan. But the long jagged scar across Castiel's stomach, the little oddly shaped one on his breastbone… Suddenly seeing them again after two weeks, remembering too well how they'd been gained, Dean was more than able to quash any erotic leanings.

"Here, change," Dean grunted, tossing sweats and a t-shirt on one of the beds. "I'll be quick." He hit the shower fast, not wanting to leave Cas alone in the room for long.

Of course he'd forgotten a change of clothes too, and had to step out in only a towel as well.

God damn it, was he doomed to live through every gay porn stereotype in the book? _Oops, my towel slipped. I'll just bend over and pick it up. Maybe you could give me a hand, big boy…_

Dean shook his head fiercely, disgusted with himself. He apparently had a habit of getting horny thoughts at all the wrong times – for instance, standing on a battlefield, ready to fight the armies of Heaven – so he supposed it was useless to berate himself for it.

Castiel was hardly paying attention anyway, which vaguely disappointed Dean. The other man sat rigid and silent on the edge of a bed, barely glancing his way. Dean sighed, grabbed his clothes, and changed in the bathroom to avoid any further clichés for the night.

Dean returned with one of the tiny plastic cups from the bathroom filled with water and handed it to Cas. "Drink," he told him. Cas did, mechanically, causing Dean to sigh.

"Okay, you have a shitload of questions. Go ahead."

Castiel finally looked at him clearly. "I'm afraid to ask them."

Grimacing, Dean said, "Man, I'd just tell you everything about everything, if I knew where the hell to start…"

"Well then… how about, who am I? Really."

That was unexpected. Dean took a deep breath and then just spit it out. "You were an angel."

Castiel's eyes unfocused, staring at the wall behind Dean's head for a moment, then swung to his shoulder pointedly. "The scar. You said it was mine, that I pulled you out of hell. I thought I'd dreamed that."

Dean swallowed in surprise. "No, it's real. I died, I went to hell."

Tilting his head to the side, eyes squinting, Castiel was every bit the angel Dean had first met in a barn five years ago. It made his heart thump.

"I find it hard to believe you could've been so evil as to wind up in hell, Dean."

Huffing a small laugh, Dean said, "Yeah, well, sometimes you just have to know the wrong people. Or make a deal with a demon to save your brother's life…"

"Oh," Castiel said numbly. "Demons…"

"Yeah, everything you can think of, just about. It's all real. Well, maybe not the Loch Ness monster, but since I've only been to Scotland once I really couldn't say for sure."

Clearly overwhelmed, Castiel sat a moment, eyes darting around slowly as he recounted. "You were in hell. I was an angel. And I pulled you out. I... the ghost, he said I had a wife, a child-"

 _Could this possibly get any worse?_ Swallowing regretfully, Dean said, "Not you. The guy you... The guy whose body you're wearing. He had a wife and kid. Not you. His name was Jimmy Novak and he begged you, the _angel_ you, to possess him." The circumstances had sucked balls but it was the spirit of the truth, at least. In the end, Jimmy had begged.

"The guy who..." Castiel's lips parted as his eyes widened in panic. "My body isn't even _mine_? But... I'm human now, and I'm not... him. I'm _me,_ but I'm human." He stared into Dean's eyes again. "I am human, right?" The word _please_ hung, heavy and silent, between them.

"Yeah."

"And we don't know how that happened."

"No."

Cas sighed again, closed his eyes, and said, "I think I'm tired." He laid down, pulling the covers over himself.

Dean sat there staring in confusion until he realized Castiel really wasn't going to talk further. Then he hesitantly crawled into his own bed and turned out the light. He didn't sleep for a very long time, eyes glued to the back of the former angel's head.

Cas had been furious and distant after they'd told him about hunting. There'd been a real chance he would've left them only a few weeks ago. Now that he knew monsters existed and that he had been something other than human himself…

Oh, this was going to be so bad.

 

* * *

It was barely dawn when Dean woke. Three hours. He was amazed he'd gotten any sleep. Castiel was still in bed, very silent. Dean rose and cautiously sat on the edge of Cas's bed, at a loss but needing to do something.

Cas wasn't asleep, though his eyes were shut. "Dean," he whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you and Sam."

Once more, Dean was surprised. Cas never said what he expected.

Cas continued, "I worried after finding the weapons, hearing your stories. I just couldn't believe it. I didn't want you to be crazy, but it was…" He sighed. "I worried that you weren't quite law-abiding citizens, that you did something unsavory. You and Sam have enough firepower to be a two-man militia. I had begun to entertain the thought that you were bounty hunters, because 'monster hunters' was absurd. At worst, I wondered if you were hired guns and you dealt with such shady situations you simply couldn't risk telling me, that an absurdity was your way of protecting me from a dangerous truth."

He turned his head slightly without meeting Dean's eyes. "That perhaps you were involved in something secret, like what I'd be led to believe I did before I lost my memory. Something military or whatever. That's not true, either, is it?"

Dean swallowed hard. He really wanted to explain, but Castiel continued.

"But now I see the truth. And I… don't like it." Castiel sighed deeply and sat up, taking half the covers with him and nearly dislodging Dean from his spot. "At least a few things make more sense now, so I guess I can thank you for that."

"What thi—" Dean began.

"The nightmares. So much of it seemed real, too real. But how could it be?" Cas shook his head. "Yet if I wasn't even human before, I suppose all of it could be memories instead of nightmares. Which I have to admit doesn't fill me with joy."

"Cas, I don't think they're all real. Maybe pieces. But there's a lot you've told me that's probably just dreams. We all have bad dreams."

"I wonder if I ever dreamed before." Cas looked upward, as if searching for answers through the ceiling. "I don't think I did. I don't remember being an angel. I don't know what sort of life I had before, or what sort of life I'm supposed to have now."

When Cas fell silent again, Dean finally cleared his throat gently. "I'm really sorry, Cas. This is our life, mine and Sam's, and Bobby's too. What you are is something we can't change. If you… if you just don't want to be part of it, I guess I can understand. But…" He swallowed hard, and his voice was rough when he said, "I really don't want you to leave."

Cas bowed his head, saying in a monotone, "I said before. Where else would I go? I'm not even anyone real. This isn't even me," he said, pawing at his stomach. "I can't even… I won't leave. I don't know anything else."

Dean's gut tightened and his eyes pricked. Castiel was so unbearably hopeless. And he got it. The months after Cas had die—disappeared, he'd been so deep in the hole there'd been no light above. He'd crawled into a well of misery and pulled the lid shut over him. Only time, and Sam, had saved him. Now Cas was sinking fast, and Dean didn't know what to do...

So he leaned over, took Cas's chin in his hand, and kissed him.

It started soft and simple, chaste and comforting. But Dean was aching in heart and soul, had been for so damned long, and his body was catching up to that. He pulled himself closer until their thighs pressed together, slid an arm around Cas's back and deepened the kiss. Cas let him in, allowed Dean's tongue to explore and lick around inside his mouth. Dean sighed in pleasure, wanting more, it had been days and days. Testing, his hand slid down Castiel's throat and chest to rest on his lower stomach. Moaning softly, he moved the last few inches and cupped Cas's dick…

But there was no response. Cas was listlessly letting him take what he wanted. That was just… Well, it wasn't flattering. Mostly, it wasn't right.

Dean pulled away, running his tongue over his tingling lips. Green eyes searched Cas's face but Cas wasn't looking back. The former angel's were half-shut and lowered. Though there was a definite flush to his cheeks and lips, he looked otherwise uninvolved in the proceedings.

Now Dean felt dirty. He was a physical guy, that was how he expressed his feelings. Castiel knew that, had accepted it so far. This, though, this was Dean just using that as an excuse to take advantage while Cas was numb and blank. Which officially made Dean the lowest form of scum on the planet. The guy was in shock and his solution was to paw at him like a horny teenager?

He stood up, wiping his mouth, revolted at himself. "Uh, we should get ready to hit the road." Dean grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom. No way was he going to subject a shell-shocked (and practically ravished) Castiel to a repeat viewing of his nearly bare ass. When he back came out, he saw that Cas was already dressed and packed, ready to go.

"I'm gonna take us up to Bobby's before heading home," Dean said, throwing belongings into his duffle. "There's more stuff to explain. And, uh," he looked pointedly at the bracelet Cas had wisely put back on his wrist, "you might want to consider something more potent than that thing now that you know what's out there."

Castiel nodded and stood, lifting his bag. He still wasn't meeting Dean's eyes, and that bothered Dean more than anything. "Fine, let's go."

The inside of the Impala was frostier than the late January winter outside. The eleven hour drive was one of the quietest (and guiltiest) Dean had ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [The Alp](http://bit.ly/dSoCh) is, generally speaking, a nightmare, but it has some very interesting qualities.  
> \- For the general location of where I like to think Dean was buried, enter these coordinates into Google maps: 40.8738 -88.6061 (ignore the red maker, look at the green arrow). It's the sort of figure eight road, in that area. There are basic similarities to canon - in a wooded area, down a long country road; at the end is a lot where a building was torn down (where the gas station would've stood), just at the edge of the highway. Plus - figure eight = eternity, that sort of thing.  
> \- Roger's last name, and the name of his wife, were never mentioned in the show. St. Mary's cemetery where they are buried is real, and is on Billet Rd. outside Pontiac.  
> \- The gravestone of Castiel's vision is based on [this one](http://i.imgur.com/NIBxZ.jpg). In Toronto, Canada, I believe.


	5. PART I - CHAPTER 5: Grand Fun Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone deals with the fallout of lies by omission, and Castiel gets various educations.

Early February

"He's still not talking to me," Dean sighed, looking uncomfortably at the devil's trap on the ceiling.

"Didn't take it well, eh?" Sam quirked a partial smile at his brother as he shot a look over at Castiel, who sat by the large window in Bobby's living room with an open book on his lap. The former angel was staring somewhat blankly at a page filled with detailed renderings of monsters and what they could do to a human body. He definitely wasn't very happy.

"I'd have preferred nuclear explosion to nuclear winter," Dean grumbled, turning his eyes to the table. His coffee had gone as cold as Castiel's attitude toward him. He went to refresh it from the steaming pot.

"Sorry it didn't go well in Pontiac."

"How could it?" Dropping a spoon full of sugar into his mug, he added, "Thanks for reminding me that I'm supposed to be pissed at you about that, by the way. _Seriously_ , man? I mean, yeah, breakthrough. But…" Dean exhaled hard, then sipped his coffee. "I wish he could've remembered on his own."

"I have a feeling it'll shake more loose now, though it was a rough way to start." Sam pursed his lips in sympathy. "I totally get what he's feeling, too. Former angel. No memory of it. At least when it all came back to me, it was literally in one big info dump with a sudden integration. Doesn't look like Cas will be as lucky."

Dean groaned lightly. "Now you're making my head ache."

"In fact," Sam furrowed his brow, tapping his fingers on the table thoughtfully, "maybe a little angelic bonding might be a good idea."

Looking up at his brother suspiciously, Dean said, "What sort of 'bonding' are you implying?"

Sam looked right back with an incredulous look, then laughed. "For crying out loud, you're really that insecure? God, get a grip. And be patient with him, this is a huge thing he's dealing with."

"I know, I just… wish I could help."

Sam looked back at Castiel, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose, already tired of staring at the big books with tiny print. "I think the best way to help right now is to give him space."

 

* * *

Bobby took the ignored book from Castiel's lap. "Son, you okay?"

Castiel glared up at him. "I am no one's _son_."

Drawing himself up to his full height, Bobby said, "Cas, I've said this a hundred times to those boys, and I'll say a few hundred more to you if that's what it takes. Family don't end with blood." He stared Castiel down, which wasn't easy. "Like it or not, kid, you're part of this screwed up family. You're legally my nephew, and by God I'll treat you like one. So deal with it."

Castiel frowned at him for a moment longer then lowered his eyes. His voice softened. "I apologize. I do understand the concept of adoption and that family is what you choose it to be. But… I…" He sighed shakily. "How did I get here in order to be accepted into a human family?"

Bobby thought for a moment. "Well, I guess we can just chalk it up to God. Everything else that don't make a lick of sense fits in that category." He pulled up a chair and sat in front of Castiel. "Look, we have as much idea why and how you're here as you do, and that's the flat truth. Hell, if Missouri couldn't figure it out, I don't think we're gonna know any time soon. Meanwhile, you're here and everyone cares about you. Ya gotta know that's true."

Castiel swallowed and nodded. It was the one thing he did know, and he was clinging to it desperately.

"So unless you're planning to run off from us," Bobby said, patting his shoulder, "all we wanna do is try to help you. And to help you, we gotta teach you. Maybe you'll remember things as we go."

 

* * *

Hours later, Castiel's eyes were crossing. He'd mostly glanced through the books because focusing too much on a library full of arcane details was overwhelming. There were too many creatures to count, too many spells to ever be spoken aloud.

At least the numbers of weapons were more finite, and he'd be taking some time practicing with whatever they had on hand tomorrow. The idea of handling a gun after shooting a hole in the duplex wall made him uneasy, but some of the things he'd seen were interesting, like he almost remembered what they were.

During the frequent breaks from looking at books, his gaze inevitably searched out Dean's face. Often, Dean was already looking his way, but would instantly find another focus when Castiel looked up. Cas was aware enough of social behavior to know that it was childish, yet he ended up doing the same thing.

He'd seen the look of disgust on Dean's face after attempting to seduce him at the hotel, the way he'd tried to subtly wipe his mouth. Castiel's heart had been aching since that moment. Dean had never expressed himself well-Cas was used to that-but he'd begun to think Dean cared about him, might even be harboring stronger feelings. Then there had been the argument, the revelations, the confusion. And now Dean couldn't stand to touch him, had gone silent, and was unable to look Cas in the eye. It made Castiel want to simultaneously crawl in a hole and punch Dean in the mouth. He'd been feeling like that a lot lately.

Dinner was stilted. Bobby and Sam talked to both Dean and Cas, but the two of them talked around one another. It was making everyone twitchy.

Eventually they retired for the night, and Castiel was truly alone for the first time. Bobby had his room, Sam was downstairs in the panic room (which was just a creepy place, he didn't know why Sam had volunteered to be down there), and Dean was on the sofa in the living room. Castiel, by default, had the small spare bedroom upstairs. Sleeping that far away from everyone else was troubling. Every little noise made his heart thump. He was used to the creaking and sighing of an old house; the duplex was ancient had made plenty of its own noises, but these were different creaks and sighs. After staring at a million monster faces all day, his mind seemed stuck on trying to run what things could make noises like those, trying to remember if there were wards in place for each creature.

His mind was buzzing with so many thoughts that he was completely exhausted. He fell into a dozing state and images danced behind his eyes-

_Looking down at his own face… flying into his own eyes… he is a blinding white light._

_Taking a breath, it feels like the first he's ever taken. Flexing his fingers, it's as though they'd never been his own. Looking back at the house he sees it is covered in grape vines. Bobby, sitting at a white table with a silver dish, is being served wine by two women. He knows them but cannot remember their names. Those names, he knows, will feel like they should be important once he wakes, but in the dream they are not._

_The sigils carved into the silver dish twist and turn like living things, trying to spell out something he knows he should be able to read as they turn to blood. A hand appears to touch them and he feels pulled apart. White light pours from his mouth into a cup which seals itself over like a scar over a wound. He is weak and looks for a place to sit, but the only empty chair is hollow and filled with a howling blackness._

_Ink drips from his fingertips and he uses it to paint a wide circle of symbols on the floor. A gaunt man is chained inside, bright bloody teeth snapping at Dean's throat. Crying out in rage, he lifts his hand to grasp the man's heart but cannot. Sam reaches out instead, and plucks fire and feathers from within the man's chest._

_Sam and Dean fall to the floor, covered in a green and crawling liquid, writhing in pain. He reaches to help, and falls as well, choking on foul water. A man made of insects laughs and laughs._

_He rises like climbing a mountain, grasping tendrils of roots that turn to smoke. He swallows the smoke, filling himself to bursting, choking._

_He cannot leave yet, his armor is gone, the sword is broken. He struggles forward, past the burning snakes and feathers…_

Castiel awoke with a tiny scream. Shaking and panting in fear, he looked around in confusion. This wasn't his bed or his room. No, it was…he was at Bobby's. He was safe, and Dean was downstairs. He needed Dean.

The hunter was curled up on the sofa, an old blanket draped across his body. Cas nearly tripped over the hunter's discarded boots and cursed softly. Dean raised his head, obviously awake already.

"Hey, Cas, can't sleep?" he whispered.

Despite the fact he'd hardly spoken to Dean since Pontiac, Castiel felt nearly overwhelmed with the urge to confide in the man now. Cas shook his head, then realizing it was dark and Dean couldn't see that, said, "No, it's… too different, and I keep dreaming…"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Dean sighed, shifting around on the sofa. "I can hunt up Bobby's extra cot and bring it upstairs so we can…" He paused awkwardly. "I mean if you're not too pissed off at me."

Castiel gave a soft laugh. "About what? The fact that everything I believed was a lie? Or that you exposed me to the truth by basically throwing me into the river and telling me to swim? Or maybe because you've decided that you could just kiss me and make it all better?"

Dean hissed, "Hey, I never wanted to lie to you. I tried not to. It wasn't my damned idea to drag your ass to Pontiac, but I can't take that back now. And if just kissing you would make this better, then fucking you would probably cure cancer."

The silence fell like a stone. Then Castiel gave an incredibly deep growl. "What the hell does that mean?"

Dean was genuinely nervous at the tone. "Uh, that didn't come out right…"

"So sex is your answer to everything? Was that the easiest way to keep me from asking questions, or just a convenient way to make me want to stay with you?"

Dean could hear the rising fury in Castiel's voice. He began making sputtering noises to deny everything, but Cas cut him off icily.

"Never mind, Dean. I think I can sleep alone. I'm a grown man. Or angel. Or something." Castiel huffed with false humor. "No one seems to know what I am exactly. I suppose I could be anywhere from four months to a million years old. But I'm in a grown man's body, and I feel like a grown man. I'm tired of being coddled—"

"Hey, I've just been trying to take care of—"

"I don't need a nursemaid," Castiel snapped. "This was a bad idea." He turned around and began walking away.

"Hey wait, Cas!" Dean surged from the couch and reached for him but Castiel shook his grip off. "Come on—"

Castiel was already pulling his wounded pride around him and would not stop for Dean's. He went back upstairs, went to his room and threw himself on the mattress before resolutely shutting his eyes, determined to fall back asleep once again without the comfort of Dean's body next to his.

 

* * *

The sun began to rise outside Castiel's window after hours of fitful tossing and turning. He could admit with the first rays of dawn that he'd been hoping Dean would follow him upstairs despite their argument and was bitterly disappointed that he hadn't. He understood the concept of 'angry sex' and had secretly been wishing they could give it a try. He'd fantasized, while half-asleep, of throwing Dean against a wall… _grinding him into the bricks… snarling into his face, inches away, his extreme displeasure…_ It had felt very real, and he'd woken up with an erection that he determinedly ignored.

Giving up the pretense of rest, he took an chilly shower (someone must have woken before him and used all the hot water, which didn't help improve his mood in the slightest) before stomping downstairs. Dean was snoring softly from where he was sprawled on the sofa and Castiel couldn't help but give him a glare as he went by. This glare didn't go unnoticed it turned out, because Sam was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his morning coffee, wet hair brushing his shoulders. Ah, that would make him the hot-water culprit then. Castiel scowled.

"Hey Cas," Sam said, not pressing to know what had caused this particular bout of anger. Castiel decided to tell him anyways.

"Your brother is aggravating, insensitive and obtuse."

Sam's mouth opened, closed, and opened again before he snapped it shut. "Okay," he agreed cautiously.

"He flings me into an untenable situation, expects me to simply cope, yet treats me as though I am incapable of wiping my own ass."

The timing of this statement could not have been better. Sam had just taken a large gulp of coffee, and at Castiel's words he choked on it, struggling to swallow the liquid before he spewed it across the tabletop. He was successful, but barely.

"Uh, I'm sorry?"

Castiel moved to the kitchen counter and set the kettle for brewing his tea. "He's wrong, you know. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I believe you. Maybe you just need to show him."

Castiel paused, thoughtful. "What are you suggesting?"

"It's something that Dean and I talked about before," Sam said. "Once you knew about hunting, that it might be good if you trained."

Castiel sat down opposite of Sam and looked at him, considering. "You mean learn how to handle weapons and such?"

"Yeah. In your case you'd be re-learning a lot of them, but you should become familiar with our weapons. You know, to defend yourself and maybe, if you want, to go on hunts too."

Castiel blinked in surprise. He was glad to know that Sam didn't share his brother's inclination to keep Cas bound in swaddling wool to protect him (although this was not a logical thought, as Dean had already taken Cas on one hunt; he simply wasn't thinking logically when it came to the hunter anymore). Still, suggesting that he learn to wield weapons and go on regular hunts was a surprise.

"When could you begin teaching me?"

Balking, Sam said, "Me? I thought Dean could..."

"You're the one who reached out to speak to me of this, Sam. I'd like you to be the one to teach me."

"Oh. All right." Swallowing another mouthful of coffee, Sam added, "Bobby might want to get in on the action too, though. Maybe you could work with him on texts and magic, see how that goes?"

For the first time in a week Castiel felt himself crack a smile. "That would be equitable."

 

* * *

The short sword felt comfortable in his grasp. A plume of white drifted from Castiel's slightly parted mouth in the frigid winter air as he hefted the weight. He laid his palm flat and allowed the hilt to balance naturally. Re-curling his fingers around the near-frozen metal, he set the sword down on the table with the other weaponry that he'd already selected. Not for the first time that week he thanked the wonder of fingerless gloves.

They'd been 'training', as Sam called it, for just two days and things were advancing quickly. The younger Winchester had declared he was doing so well with basic hand-to-hand combat and self-defense that Cas was ready to have weaponry introduced into their sessions. Frankly, the fact that Castiel was able to take Sam down by hand was impressive, and proved he was remembering his past fighting skills. Of course back then Cas had relied more on having angelic strength, but he still had to use proper moves when fighting. 'Muscle memory', Sam had called it.

"Okay, well that's an angel sword," Sam shivered as he burrowed his chin into his gray scarf and pointed to the silver blade, causing Cas to snort.

Could he not escape any suggestion of his past? "Of course it is."

Castiel's gaze drifted over the weaponry that, as Sam put it, 'called to him'. The aforementioned angel sword was there, as well as a standard combat knife, a side-handle baton, and a set of _hira-shuriken_.

"You don't want to try a gun?" Sam asked carefully. The man's constant gentle prods were grating on what nerves Castiel had that weren't numb. When he'd suggested that Sam be the one to train him, he hadn't realized he was going to be quite so irritating about it. Castiel reminded himself that Sam at least was willing to act like he thought Cas wasn't completely inept, which was more than he could say about Dean.

"No," Cas said shortly.

"Well..." Sam stamped his feet, in an attempt to keep warm. They'd managed to somehow burst the majority of Bobby's reusable hand warmers over the past few days, and Dean had insisted that Castiel be the one to use those that were left (while Castiel had glared at him). When Castiel tried to slip Sam a few later, the tall man had adamantly refused. As a result Castiel's feet and the tops of his thighs under his jeans pockets sweated while the rest of his body shivered.

"That's probably better anyway. I mean, I'm a good shot, but if you want to learn how to shoot Dean should be the one to teach you. He's a better marksman than me." When Cas didn't say anything, Sam continued, "You know, Dean will do his best to help you, Cas. That's all either of us ever wanted to do."

"Shouldn't you be informing me how to use this weaponry instead of trying to defend your brother's, and your own, past avoidance of the truth?" Castiel asked. He felt a childish surge of satisfaction when Sam winced. Where he got the urge to poke and prod at the Winchesters so harshly he wasn't certain. Bobby had lied to him just as much as Sam and Dean had, but his time with the older hunter was calm, peaceful even. Bobby had told him just that morning that he thought Castiel excelled at translating texts (as it appeared he remembered Latin and Greek, at the least) and his understanding of spell casting appeared to be innate. Which he supposed was hardly surprising, considering his past. It gladdened him nonetheless, to find he was good at something truly useful.

"Yeah, okay." Sam nodded, interrupting Castiel's reverie. "So, let's start with this-" A large hand reached for one of the smaller knives, but Castiel forestalled his movement.

"I'm an angel, am I not?" he said shortly. Flicking a brow, he picked the angel blade back up. "We'll start with this."

"Cas, I don't know if that's the best-"

"We shall start with this."

Sam's eyes flared, and Castiel could have sworn that in the light they were a pale amber-gold for a moment. His jaw clenched; it seemed Cas had finally pushed his buttons successfully. Good. Castiel wanted to be sweaty and exhausted after this training session. He wanted to be so tired that his limbs shook and he had trouble climbing the porch steps. He wanted to be pushed so hard that sweat soaked the back of his t-shirt and his hair would mat to his head in clumps, to be pushed to his limits. To be too tired to think of anything, let alone his apparently angelic heritage or the way Dean's mouth and hands and body felt against his, and the way Dean had lied to him.

"Fine," Sam said pissily. "Have it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you, Cas."

If Castiel had been capable of smiling in that moment, he would have.

 

* * *

Dean stood at Bobby's window, watching Sam and Castiel sparring in the front yard. Cas was amazingly adept, only fumbling occasionally, and he felt a strange blend of longing for the old angelic Cas and worry that the new human Cas was growing more distant. He was so conflicted.

Still, as good as Castiel was proving to be with the sword, every time Sam lunged towards Cas, Dean had to fight the urge to rush out into the yard and interrupt them. He told himself that doing so would accomplish nothing. Besides, afterward Cas would give him that distant, blank look, throw down his blade and drift away, just like what had happened the first two days during the hand-to-hand grappling (he'd only been afraid the big moose could've crushed the smaller-boned man, that was all).

This overprotective streak just wasn't letting up. He'd transferred his need to protect Sammy, the kid brother – who was definitely no longer a kid – to Castiel, who'd been like a child for the first few months of his return to life. He knew it, and now Cas knew it too and was resentful. But the feeling Dean had, that Castiel would slip away again somehow if he let go for even a moment… that terrified him.

"He just needs to get his head on straight, son."

Jumping slightly from Bobby's unexpected presence, Dean hunched his shoulders down. He considered trying to pretend he hadn't been watching the sparring session, but knew that would be ridiculous. Instead he grunted.

"He cares about you, you've got to know that."

"I don't have to know anything, Bobby," Dean said. He drained the last of his coffee and pushed past the older man.

"Where you going?"

"Work on the car. She needs a tune-up."

Bobby snorted. "Well then take her into the garage and turn on the heaters. You'll freeze your balls off if you work on her out in the yard."

"It'll be fine, Bobby."

The older hunter snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _damn fool idjit_ but made no move to stop Dean.

Dean regretted his stubbornness within ten minutes. His activity level wasn't nearly enough to keep him warmed up, unlike Sam and Cas. He shivered and tucked his hands under his armpits. Maybe he would bring the Impala into the garage after all.

But then he heard laughter. Sam was shouting at Cas to make some move or other and Cas shouting something back, and then they both were laughing. Cas never laughed, at least not more than a chuckle. Even now, as a human, his humor was subtle and low-key. But this… this was a belly-laugh, and Sam had gotten it, not Dean.

Frowning, Dean stalked around the beat up old cars stacked in the yard until he could watch the two of them without being seen. He had to know what was so much _fun._ But he still couldn't hear clearly enough to make out more than one word in three, their voices were echoing around the yard, mixed with the clashing of metal on metal, making it difficult to follow the conversation.

"-then he just jumps up and screams, and Dean's throwing the flashlight, and running like the ghost had goosed him-"

Damn it. They were bonding, just like Sam said. While making fun of him. Well, screw them.

He stomped back to the Impala and fired her up, pulled into the garage and buried his head under the hood, ignoring the noises outside. When he finally realized it had gone quiet, hours had passed. He came out of the garage, and found they'd left the yard. And when he went inside the house, found they'd actually left the house entirely.

"What the hell do you mean, _'They've gone clothes shopping'_?"

 

* * *

Sam and Cas had cleaned up and changed after their sparring, having agreed during that time to go into town. They hadn't worn themselves down with training, and felt the need to escape for a while, though there were other purposes to the trip.

Cas was relaxing for the first time in weeks, and was surprised at how easy it was to be in Sam's presence now, the previous pressure having been lifted by fighting. Cas wasn't invested in Sam emotionally in the same way he was with Dean, so the fight had been strictly physical, and exhilarating. He found his body flowing in ways he didn't realize it could move. The angel Castiel had been a warrior, an _actual_ soldier, Sam assured him, even though it was a soldier of Heaven and not the United States like he'd thought.

Whatever the case, his body remembered and it was reveling in the actions and the honest release of pent-up energy that he hadn't known what to do with before. Sam was a stronger fighter than he, just yet, but he was determined to achieve equal standing if possible.

As Sam drove them across town, he noticed Castiel was smiling to himself. "Hey, I'm glad you're enjoying all this."

"I truly am. It helps me to know that something of my old life remains within me, even if I can't quite remember yet. There were moments, though," he said thoughtfully, "I had visions of lights… crackling and bursting around my blade as I plunged it into a body… and white light exploding outward, huge, gusting everywhere…"

Sam nodded. "That was a memory. When an angel is killed with an angelic weapon, that's what happens."

Castiel was taken aback. "Did I kill my own kind? How could I do that?"

Sam looked over at him, pursed his lips and said, "When they're trying their damnedest to kill you first, you fight back, Cas. That's the way it works in war."

For a silent moment, Cas's gaze lingered on the road ahead. "So we were at war? Heaven was fighting itself?"

Again, Sam debated how much he ought to tell Cas. "Well, there are always wars, Cas. Hell and Heaven and Earth, they've all fought for domination over one another. Sometimes they fight amongst themselves. You've seen what humans do to each other. Demons and angels are just the same."

Castiel frowned, pensive and saddened. "Still… I killed them."

"Would you have rather be killed instead? Or stand by and watch them kill Dean, or myself, or Bobby? Because sometimes those were the choices."

"Oh... I suppose I would defend us, in that case." Castiel exhaled hard. "Dean said similar things when we dealt with the ghost in Illinois. That sometimes there are unwanted casualties, such as the human he had to kill in order to kill a demon. It doesn't seem right."

"No, it's not fair," Sam agreed. "We don't do it for fun. We do it because no one else will."

Castiel nodded, accepting it even while disliking it. "I shall take no pleasure in it either."

Sam smiled gently. "You never did, believe me, and that's how it ought to be."

They were quiet for a few moments as Sam navigated a snowy street that hadn't been well plowed. "You know, you're already a better swordsman than Dean."

Cas chuckled, then smirked. "I do feel certain that he would find me a difficult opponent to beat."

Sam snorted. "You're probably right. You're definitely faster on your feet than him. Faster than me too, which is saying something."

"True. Yet you have an agility that I didn't expect. Your bulk and height wouldn't normally lend themselves to such fluid movement." Castiel raised an eyebrow at Sam's laughter, and realized that may have sounded rude. "My apologies, I didn't mean offense."

But Sam just kept laughing. He looked over at Castiel's puzzled expression, tilted head and furrowed brow, and laughed harder.

"Sam?" Castiel began to ask.

"Nothing, nothing," Sam chuckled, getting himself under control. "You know, Cas, in some ways you haven't changed a bit. And it's pretty awesome."

 

* * *

Four hours. Who the hell shopped for four hours? _For_ _clothes_? Girls, that's who. Sam was already a girl and apparently now Cas was too. Fine, let the girls have their fun. Maybe they'd get mani-pedi's while they were out. Crap, Bobby probably sent them to that Vietnamese beauty parlor or whatever the hell he went to sometimes.

For a moment, Dean hated himself for stereotyping their behavior. After all, he was _sort_ of gay now. Maybe? Definitely gay for Cas, anyway, and his thoughts at the moment weren't exactly PC. Damn it. He might never say these things aloud but he wasn't going to censor his own brain, not when he still believed Sam was a total girl. That was tradition. Mentally ripping on Cas was a little new though and he did feel guilty for that. Fine, _Cas_ was a man, but he still shouldn't be out shopping like a girl with Sam.

Dean was fuming. Sure, he hadn't taken Cas shopping much, but Cas hadn't asked either. Dean wasn't a shopper, especially for clothes. How was he supposed to know it'd be something the stupid angel would want to do if he didn't tell him? Of course, Sam had no such problem, he did things like think to ask Castiel if he'd like to go shopping or if he wanted him to pick him up that ice cream he liked from the store or if there was a movie in the rental place's flyer that looked interesting to him.

Dean was _not_ jealous.

Damn it, he needed to stop pacing around and watching the window for them to return. Bobby had already given him a funny look. If Sam caught him waiting, he'd never hear the end.

Sam's SUV came down the drive, crunching on the packed down snow Bobby had yet to plow. They exited the car, laden with purchases, and picked their way carefully across the slush. _How dainty_ , Dean snarked internally. Then he scrambled away from the door and into the living room, throwing himself on the chair behind Bobby's desk as he fought to look casual and unconcerned by beginning to take apart his gun for cleaning. That was manly.

Sam and Cas bustled into the kitchen laughing and chatting. Dean tried not to glare at the multitude of flashy plastic bags and brightly colored logos, but it was hard.

"Hey Dean!" Sam said cheerfully. "Guess who we ran into at the mall?"

This was so not a game Dean wanted to play, but he did anyway. "Oh please, do tell me who, Sam."

"Sheriff Jody Mills," Castiel answered instead. His cheeks were rounded as if he was biting back a smile, a pink flush high on the softest curve of his face. "She expressed her disappointment that we were not present for Christmas and said that she would have enjoyed visiting with us."

Fury towards a woman he normally liked perfectly well rumbled through Dean. "Did she? How swell," he said sardonically. Sam and Cas both caught the tone and exchanged a Look, and it was definitely a capitalization-worthy couple-y concerned _Oh my, what's the immature mudmonkey upset about now_ sort of Look.

"She is exceedingly pleasant," Castiel said after a moment. His words were directed towards Sam, as he'd evidently decided that talking to Dean was pointless. He was right, but that didn't make Dean feel any better. "I would not mind seeing her again."

Dean's fingers slipped and the recoil spring went flying out of his grip and rattled somewhere across the room. Cursing violently, he got up and groped around on the dusty floor for it. He managed to poke his finger on the edge of a metal bound book stacked in one of the many heaps, and cursed some more as it began to bleed. Finding the spring, he stood and returned it to the pile of gun parts then glared at his brother. Sam was giving him his _Oh God, really Dean?_ face. Shoving the bleeding finger in his mouth, Dean spoke around the digit to say, "Why don't you invite her over tonight? Go crazy, have a party. Do each other's nails and braid your hair." Then he made the mistake of looking up at Castiel.

Cas was staring at Dean, his eyes wide and pupils enormous. Dean felt his heart thump hopefully in his chest, suddenly aware of what he could look like, the innuendo suggested by suckling his finger in his mouth. He was just working up the courage to put on a bit of a show for Cas, with lowered eyelashes and a slow, twisting up and down suck of his finger when that hopeful thump turned into a wrenching pain as the former angel said, his voice sounding distant and very deep, "I _should_ invite her over. When she gave me her number at the mall, she did state that I could call her anytime."

Jerking his finger out of his mouth, Dean snapped, "You do that, then." He then fled the room, feeling small and childish.

 

* * *

Sheriff Mills didn't come over that night, or the night after, or the night after that. However, by day Sam and Castiel ran through every buddy-movie cliché there was, so the sulfurous jealous lump that had taken up residence in Dean's gullet didn't ease in the slightest. On the fifth day, they went out again to get Cas his anti-possession tattoo.

Oh, now that was too much. Sure Cas needed the tattoo, but for them to go together, after spending so much time with each other already? Why the hell didn't they just get another set of matching tats while they were at the parlor, little hearts with each other's names inside or something? Sam + Cas = BFFs 4ever. Yay for them. The brotherly love thing was getting nauseating.

No, he was _not_ jealous. Just because he'd been looking forward to taking Cas for the tattoo himself didn't mean he was jealous. Not one bit.

Today was also the day Castiel finally put on some of the new clothing he'd bought. Since he and Sam weren't sparring and sweating together, Cas didn't have to wear old clothes that could handle being torn up. When Dean saw what Castiel had purchased he'd nearly choked on his own tongue.

Or it could have been drool. You know, whatever. Point was, Castiel looked hot, and so much like himself, but yet not, that Dean ached.

A dark brown button-up shirt was tucked into rather snug black jeans; over the shirt was a subtly pin-striped waistcoat the color of milk chocolate. Matte black shoes and a matching leather belt, its burnished pewter buckle teased from under the edge of the waistcoat. His hair was mussed up in that slightly spiky yet fluffy way that Dean especially liked. While this all made a very yummy (and no, Dean was not going to ever admit that he thought the word, thanks) picture, what really got to Dean was the deep, deep brown, almost black overcoat that he casually pulled on as he headed for the door. It wasn't as long as the old tan trench, reaching just to the back of his knees, but it still had the swish and swoop like dark wings…

"Hey Cas," Dean barely got out, "nice outfit."

Sharp blue eyes flicked over Dean's face before Castiel said dismissively, "Yes, well, I thought it best to begin dressing as _myself,_ and not a shadow of _you_. When Sam took me to the mall he encouraged me to purchase the items I felt most comfortable with, and this is what the sales associate and I came up with."

The chilly response left an ache in Dean's chest. He had another ache, lower down, and the blame for that rested entirely on how ridiculously sexy Castiel was.

Hours later when they returned (and no, Dean hadn't been pacing by the window waiting, except for how he was) Cas was favoring his left arm. The waistcoat was hanging open, and the sleeves of that brown shirt were rolled up to mid-forearm, showing pale skin with a light sprinkle of dark hair. The neck was unbuttoned well below his collar bones, exposing the scar on his chest. It was the most of Castiel's skin he'd gotten to see in weeks. The loosened buttons meant that he had undone or even removed the shirt while getting inked.

Oh, God.

Cas was talking softly to Sam, ignoring Dean, and flexed his left arm slightly. From the direction of their gazes, the tattoo was on his bicep. The left bicep. The same position as Dean's handprint scar.

_Oh, God..._

Dean had to excuse himself. He stumbled outside, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get to the Impala. His cock pressed urgently against the fly of his jeans.

There was really no good place to be alone in Bobby's house, not for what Dean not-so-suddenly and desperately needed. His mind had flicked through several options— the shower was out, because you could even hear someone peeing in Bobby's bathroom throughout the whole house (he'd learned that from hard-ha-experience), as was the guest bedroom, because if Cas walked in and caught Dean, well— His lust-fevered brain finally screamed for him to get to his baby, pronto.

He shoved the key in the ignition and turned her on, but Dean was too impatient to wait for her cab to heat up. With desperately shaking fingers he unzipped his denims, pulled down the front of his boxer briefs and took himself in hand. His breath fogged the windshield as he jerked harshly. It was cold enough that his dick should have been shriveling up, pulling tight to his body for warmth, but the pace Dean's hand set and the heat of desire burning through him drove the chill away. He continued tugging hard, not wasting any time for such niceties as the lube he optimistically kept tucked away in a box under the seat. The idea of using spit never even occurred to him.

Twisting slightly at the head on the upstroke, Dean smoothed pre-come down his shaft and used what wetness it provided to jerk himself faster. His orgasm barreled over him quickly; one moment his hips were straining up into his palm, and the next he was waking from a blackout to drying come splashed down the front of his clothes and across the Impala's steering wheel.

"Fuck," Dean said, with feeling. As he panted and gasped while his body came down from the aftershocks (Dean estimated it'd be a good ten minutes before he'd be able to walk) he realized that it had actually been two weeks building up. He hadn't even taken the standard perfunctory jerk in the shower at the duplex. The last time he'd gotten off was the last time he'd touched Castiel. No wonder he'd been about to explode.

"Fuck," he said again, because really, there was nothing else that he could say. Snagging the box of tissues he kept in the glove compartment, Dean wiped down the steering wheel as best he could with a silent promise to get outside with a rag and some cleaner soon. Bunching up the soiled tissues, he shoved them in his pocket before finally tucking himself back into his pants, wondering how the hell he was going to get upstairs, out of his come-splattered clothes and in the shower without anyone seeing him.

 

* * *

The next morning, Dean was staring at the cell phone in his palm. He flicked the keypad closed, then opened it again, thumbed the touchpad and stared at the screen, then shut it again. For the last ten minutes he'd been doing that. Sam watched him from the doorway, his own cell phone cradled in the crook of his neck as Gail chatted in his ear. Finally Sam's curiosity couldn't handle the fidgeting anymore. He made his excuses to Gail and hung up before walking up to his brother.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Castiel paused in his reading across the room, trying to casually look up from the grimoire he'd been perusing, the wire-rim reading glasses they'd picked up on their last shopping trip sliding down his nose a bit. (That had been a sobering experience, watching another former angel pick out readers, a reminder of mortality that the Samael aspects of his personality didn't appreciate.) Stealth, Castiel and Dean didn't really mix anymore, though, because it was painfully obvious that Cas was staring.

"I got a text," Dean said slowly. Sam rolled his eyes. Only Dean, he thought, would be shocked and amazed at that little bit of technology.

"From who?" Sam pressed.

"Don't know." _Clack_ , Dean shut the phone again. A bite of his lip (resulting in a slight gasp from Castiel—yeah, not subtle at all) and a flick of his thumb later, Dean seemed to have come to some sort of decision because he thrust his phone in Sam's direction.

Because Dean had crappy settings on his phone the screen went black before Sam had a chance to read the text, and he had to swipe his finger across the screen to get it to come back to life again. Also because this was Dean's phone complete with crappy settings, it knocked him out of the texting screen. Dean's wallpaper was a photo of Castiel, frown tugging down the corners of his mouth, glasses perched on the end of his nose, a smudge of print ink on his chin and the top two buttons of his collared shirt loose. It must have been taken very recently, because the glasses were pretty new. Sam wisely decided not to say anything about that (despite the fact that if their positions were reversed Dean would be teasing him unmercifully right about now, but that was okay because Sam was the bigger man and could resist the urge).

Instead he pulled up the text and then frowned. _39º 16'8''N 84º 16'14''W/39.26889º N 84.27056º W_

"Coordinates?" he said, sure that he was missing something.

"Yeah," Dean said, tilting his head towards Sam and lifting his brows as if a set of random coordinates should be significant in some way. Sam shrugged and handed the phone back to his brother.

"That doesn't strike you as familiar in any way, Sammy?" Dean said.

"No," he said. "Should it?"

Dean flicked his head at Castiel in a 'can you believe this guy' sort of way. Castiel's response was to bury his face back down into the grimore and pretend as if he hadn't been following the Winchesters interactions in the slightest. Yeah, he sucked at subterfuge when it came to Dean, but apparently Dean sucked at reading Castiel's body language just as much, because his shoulders slumped and he gave this tiny (girly, the mean part of Sam cackled) sigh of disappointment, like the reason why he'd been so melodramatic (for Dean) with the phone was because he'd been hoping Cas would be curious about Dean getting a strange text. Dean huffed and turned back to Sam.

"Coordinates," he said, spacing his words out, "in a text message, with an unfamiliar number and no other information." When Sam continued to stare blankly at Dean, his brother threw his cell on Bobby's kitchen table and said in disgust, "Oh, come on, man! I know the last few years haven't exactly been a cake walk but I can't believe you don't remember this!"

"Being as I don't remember," Sam gritted out, "you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that, Dean."

"Dad!"

Sam jumped at the outburst, as did Castiel. The former angel tilted down his tome, no longer even bothering to pretend he wasn't listening. Sam wasn't surprised; Dean hardly talked about John Winchester to him; he couldn't imagine their father was a subject that he brought up all that often with Cas, and with how interested Castiel was in all things Dean (even when he was trying to pretend he wasn't) he was bound to be curious.

Latching onto Castiel's apparently sudden attention a little faster than what was flattering, Sam thought, Dean explained, "Remember how I told you Sammy got back into hunting? Because our dad went missing and I went to his college to recruit his help in finding him?" When Cas nodded, Dean said, "What I didn't tell you was how when he first started to get in contact with us, the only thing he left us were these coordinates. We'd go to the town, hunt the monsters that were there, and move on, hoping we'd get lucky and find him."

Castiel and Sam exchanged glances. "Dean," Castiel said carefully, "your father is deceased. Unless that is something else you lied to me about?"

 _Ouch_. Sam winced. That barb wasn't even meant for him and it hurt; Dean's face flickered briefly but held back from displaying outright pain admirably well.

"No," he said shortly. "I didn't lie about my _dad_ being _dead_. Thanks for checking though, Cas."

Looking somewhat ashamed, Castiel pulled his glasses off and set them aside to massage the bridge of his nose. Dean took the opportunity to turn his attention back to Sam.

"I can't believe you didn't remember that. Thought you're the brains of the family."

"Well, Dean, I kinda had a lot on my mind. Jess had just died, I wasn't gonna be able to go back to school and I don't really spend a whole lot of time dwelling on that first year without her and..." He trailed off at the look of sudden sympathy on Dean's face. Shit, he'd never correlated what happened with him and Jess with what happened to Dean when Castiel was...gone, but now the similarity was staring him in the face and he couldn't unsee it.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

His brother blinked. "What for?" he asked hoarsely. A chair scraped as Castiel rose and excused himself from the house, stepping out onto the front porch despite it being February in South Dakota and wearing only house slippers and a cardigan for warmth. A sudden swell of brotherly affection towards Castiel thrummed under Sam's chest, but his other brother was the one he needed to focus on.

"You know," Sam said uncomfortably. Jess' death is still a sore for Sam, a barely-scabbed over wound that he tried not to pick at too much. So instead of telling Dean that he finally got it, got why Dean threw himself into a bottle after Utah, gets why he all but fell apart (because it wasn't like he had a focus or someone to blame like Sam had) he said, "C'mon, Dean. You're not actually fishing around for a heart-to-heart, are you?"

"Pff, no!" Dean exclaimed. His eyes drifted to Bobby's door for a moment (and by extension Castiel on the other side, Sam thought), and Sam believed that Dean probably did get what he was apologizing for without a discussion after all. Clearing his throat, Sam clapped his hands together once and said, "So. Text message. It's pretty similar to what dad did that year, isn't it?"

Shaking his head as though clearing from a fog, Dean said, "Yeah, too similar. I think we're gonna have to investigate it. I know it can't possibly be dad-" he forestalled the statement Sam wasn't going to make with a dramatic hand gesture. "But it's someone who knows us well enough to know that something like this would be familiar to us, and the only people like that who are friendly live in this house."

"You don't think it could just be a coincidence?" The question had to be asked, even if Sam didn't believe that scenario for a single moment himself.

"Since when is anything in our lives a coincidence?"

Sam couldn't help it. He laughed. "Yeah, I didn't think so either, but I thought I'd throw it out there."

Dean's lips twitched. He rose from the kitchen chair and made a half-aborted step towards the front door. Castiel came back in before Dean could decide what he was doing. Snow dusted his hair and shoulders; his nose was bright red.

"Dean-" Sam interrupted his admiration of Castiel, "As much as I'd like to immediately jump on this and check it out, we have to go home. You told Gail you'd be gone a couple days and it's been nearly a week. Your work is backing up."

"Oh, shit," Dean grimaced, "I totally forgot everything."

"Kinda figured. Anyway I've got a few jobs I ought to check on, too. We're part of the working class now," Sam chuckled wryly. "The coordinates are weird, yeah, but I think we're gonna have to set them aside in favor of our _other_ jobs for a few days. I'm gonna go pack up and head out. You guys better do the same." He clumped back down the stairs.

"Yeah," Dean sighed, but he waited a few more seconds, contemplating. He was pretty sure Cas wasn't ready to forgive him yet, and going home to the duplex before they'd worked things out felt wrong to him. The rift that had developed might be more difficult to repair than a car ride south. All the time Cas and Sam had spent together had served to bring them closer, which Dean was happy about. It also served to keep Dean and Cas apart, so they had little time to try fixing things. Of course he wouldn't admit to himself that his own childish pig-headedness was creating just as much trouble. Cas wasn't exactly helping matters though, scowling and teasing (he was pretty sure that was deliberate).

He really wasn't sure how to handle having a relationship with someone as complicated as Castiel. Cas had been inscrutable at times, as an angel. Dean realized he'd been expecting things to be far simpler with a human Cas, which wasn't the best strategy. If anything it was more complex, layers of issues, including some new personality traits. The Cas before had never pouted, for one. And Dean really never dealt well with that.

Plus he didn't think freaking out on the guy a few minutes ago really helped his case at all.

Now he sat, staring at the human Castiel, who was so different, yet the same. Some aspects were so far still missing – the stoicism, the idealistic drive, the sense of power tingling just underneath everything he said and did. Cas was here, but Dean still missed him in too many ways.

And human Castiel was now wearing little reading glasses. His headaches from staring at Bobby's books had been alleviated by that simple thing. A thing which hammered his humanity even further into Dean's heart. He cared for the human Cas, deeply – he wouldn't be having sex with a man if he didn't. But even now, he just wished the angel had all of his memories back. He'd settle for that, no powers or grace necessary.

Shaking of the maudlin thoughts, Dean's lips quirked a little at the sight of Castiel reading. He had to admit, the guy really was quite cute in those glasses.

Dean was just getting up to tell Cas they'd be leaving when Sam came back up the stairs and took care of it for him.

"Hey, Cas, we're gonna have to head back home," Sam said, "so do you need help packing up?"

Castiel paused a little too long before answering, "I'm not returning just now."

 _What_? Dean's heart stopped beating.

"What?" Sam asked, forehead creasing. "Did you… are you leaving us after all?"

"Not entirely. I just… I think I still need some time away from… It would be best if I learned to be a little less dependent on your brother and you." Castiel's face was flushed, and it was pretty obvious he mostly meant 'Dean'. "Bobby has invited me to stay for as long as I need, and I've accepted the offer. I'll have a lot to keep me occupied, trying to re-learn several thousand years worth of knowledge." His hand waved vaguely at the copious piles of books in the living room.

"Okay, ah," Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "If you need us for anything—"

"I will call, yes."

"Okay…" He cleared his throat, unsure what else to do. "I'll see you soon, I hope."

"Very likely."

Dean stood, slamming his upper thigh against the top of the table, hard. He waved Sam's concern aside with a vague hand and a muttered "I'm fine, Jesus." Yeah, Dean was fine alright. Cas didn't want to be around him? Dean could accommodate that. He stomped past where Cas was sitting and snagged his duffle bag up off the floor. Most of his things were scattered around Bobby's house, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care. There had to be at least one change of clothes in there, and it would be enough to get him back to Kansas.

"See ya later, Cas," he called out, absolutely refusing to call what he was doing running away.

 

* * *

Castiel sat for hours after they'd left, fuming with disbelief. He couldn't focus on the books, he had no one to spar with to burn off energy. If Bobby wouldn't have thrown a fit, Cas would've gone out to the yard and started beating the living shit out of junker. He knew where the tire irons where kept. The idea had a great deal of appeal.

But it was dark now, and so he stomped upstairs and tried not to slam the door of the bedroom. He did tear his clothes off rather roughly, popping one button, cursing violently under his breath, and nearly snagging the zipper of his jeans as well. Taking a long deep breath, he finished undressing smoothly, then flopped gracelessly onto the bed. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to burn holes in it with his eyes. Did he have laser vision as an angel? No, he didn't believe so. Pity.

God damn it. Dean wasn't supposed to just up and leave like that. There were rules to relationships— all the films Sam and Gail had ever suggested he watch, all the books he'd remembered reading and the articles he'd perused all said so. Perhaps, though, Castiel had been operating under a faulty perception and that was why Dean left in the manner they had. Maybe to the man it had been just sex after all, and Castiel had been the only one stupid enough to think otherwise.

Or maybe it was even worse than that. Maybe he _had_ been after a relationship and had simply decided that Castiel was too needy, too dependent, too childish for him. What had he been thinking, getting Dean a toy car for his birthday anyways? The Castiel he'd known before had been an angel of the Lord, undoubtedly full of power and righteous fury, and here Cas was purchasing him novelty items and thinking a few weeks eating popcorn together on the sofa should mean anything. That when Dean touched him he'd been thinking about anything other than what he used to be, not what he currently was.

That was another thing— how could Dean _do that?_ How could Dean touch him, _knowing_ that the body he inhabited was not truly his own? Or at least that it hadn't started out as his own. Castiel stared harder at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, trying to form shapes from the spidery lines of them. His cock pressed tightly against his briefs, and he growled softly.

"You are not even mine. You shouldn't give a damn what I'm thinking about," Cas hissed at his recalcitrant member. It, if anything, grew even harder, and Castiel rolled over onto his stomach, determined to ignore the building pressure. This movement didn't help in the slightest, because it just caused his cock to rub against the sheets that smelled strongly of the man he was trying not to think about.

He'd barely touched himself before; all of his sexual exploration had been under Dean's control, with Dean's mouth on his skin and Dean's hands skimming over him. The thought of touching himself now, here, without Dean around, suddenly felt unbearably daring and erotic. This body may not have started out as his, but he was the only one in it now. The ghosts of Dean's touch shouldn't be allowed to haunt him.

A feeling of possessiveness for his own skin erupted and he held his arms upward. His gaze skimmed over the flesh, the light sprinkling of dark hair, the veins in his hands, the long fingers that Dean liked to twine together with his own, to drag over Dean's cock…

 _No!_ That wasn't the point of this exercise. It was his body, his to play with.

He sat up against the headboard of the bed, and looked at his outstretched legs now. Lean muscles, like a runner's legs, hairier than his arms. His feet were as long boned as his hands, and there was one toe on the left foot that bent a little too far, possibly had been broken long ago. Knees were a bit knobby, and he ran his hands over them to feel the bones shift under the skin. What a strange feeling.

How had he never done this before? It was like he'd been half-awake for months, drifting between the nightmares and visions and the dreamy quality of daily life.

Screw that. His eyes were opening now.

His hands were moving up his thighs now, which slid apart slightly so that he could stroke between them. He skimmed over his hipbones which poked out a bit, and up to his stomach. It was fairly flat, unlike Dean's which was a little on the soft side… _No. Think of your own body._ Over the scar of unknown origin, long and ragged and just a little stiff if he moved wrong. He dipped his finger into his navel, and marveled at the little divot that had once attached itself to another human being. How odd. Even if he regained every memory of being an angel, he doubted he'd remember the body's experience of being born, or being raised by a mother. He had only a Father, and apparently a remote uncaring one… _Body, think only of the body._ Across the chest which had virtually no hair, and over the nipples. They were amazingly sensitive for things that served no actual purpose on a male body. But it did feel very nice to stroke them, tweak them, lick them, suck them…

He moaned softly, feeling his cock twitch and grow even thicker. He raised his knees and shuffled his body downward on the bed to lay flat again, as he brushed his right hand across the breastbone scar, and up his throat until it reached the scratch of stubble at his jaw. While the fingers of his left hand alternated pinching each nipple, the left were tracing his lips, full and soft and plush, not as firm and defined as Dean's lips…

 _Fuck it_.

Shoving his fingers into his mouth, he sucked them hard, soaking them. His left hand gave up on the nipples and yanked the waistband of his briefs down, struggling with them over his hips until they were strung across his raised thighs. He cupped his balls firmly, massaging. Groaning, he popped his fingers from his mouth and grabbed his erection with the slopping wet hand and immediately began to pump, no finesse, no hesitation. _Oh God, it was good._ His hand slapped up and down, hard enough to almost hurt. It never hurt when Dean did this… _God damn it. Dean, you bastard._

His strokes grew rougher still, as though he was trying to spark a fire with his cock. The pressure of orgasm was building in his gut, pulling through his thighs and groin. He moaned long and low, closer and closer. Then, for no reason he could think of, his left hand dove behind his balls and two fingers pressed into his hole, not so much rubbing as stabbing over and over. Something Dean had never done, this was his first, just his, and it felt incredible. How would it feel if Dean did this to him…

The climax nearly split him in half, it was so brutal. Come gushed over his hand, splattered steaming hot across his stomach and chest. The waves of pleasure went on for much longer than it ever had when Dean touched him… _Fuck it. Dean…_

Gasping harshly, his muscles gave up and his entire body collapsed, loose and trembling. His fingers slid out of his ass, and he moaned a little at the mild pain there. But he didn't care much. He was too damned tired and too damned angry. Still angry.

Raising his sticky right hand, he stared at the white fluid clinging to the fingers. He'd seen it smeared across Dean's lips, just once so far. Dean hadn't been able to keep his mouth over Cas's dick while he came, but he'd tried. From what Cas understood, swallowing was supposed to special for some reason. Dean hadn't, but he didn't feel any less special for it. He raised his fingers to his lips and sucked the come from them. He tasted different than Dean, by a little bit. He liked the way Dean tasted…

It was completely hopeless. He was in love with the damned infuriating son of a bitch. And that made him angrier than anything else.

But at least he wasn't angry at his body. It couldn't help that it didn't start out belonging to him. He owned it now and he liked it. And he could decide who touched it and when and how. Dean didn't deserve to. Not for a while, anyway.

 

* * *

Well, well, well. Winchester running off like a little bitch with its tail between its legs. Really, it was hardly a surprise that the King of Angst couldn't take the pressure of the lover's quarrel and took off home. It _was_ a surprise that darling Cassie let him go. No clinging, no big soulful baby blues pouring out more sweet, sweet guilt. Maybe the special little angel was growing up. Aww.

Also a smart little angel, learning all sorts of new tricks from that old coot in the trucker hat. He might not look it, but Singer was annoyingly adept at magic and warding. Fortunately he hadn't warded specifically for miniature hellhounds, and those little devils were clever enough to scratch loose a sigil or two just for someone else to squeeze through. Breeding them down small enough to tote around in a purse was a stroke of genius. No one ever saw it coming.

Of course being on the inside of those wards, you still had to watch your step. Walking through the minefield of the salvage yard was a challenge, but worth it. Being able to spy on the pretty boy ex-angel while he learned to cast spells was a real treat. He was able to read and understand every language now, or so it seemed, and his pronunciation was flawless. Singer smiled at him like a proud papa – what are you waiting for, give the boy a gold star. That glamour spell was awesome, and you know it. Your whole damned living room looked like the Ritz for three whole minutes. Next, teach him to make brooms dance and sweep up the damned place. Little apprentice is coming along nicely, good job.

Yes, coming along nicely.

So he was safe and sound (except from the smart folk with a toy pooch from the Pit), and as much fun as it was to hang around enjoying the ambiance of motor oil and rusty clunkers, clearly the best target was Dean-o. While so far no demon had cracked the code to find the location of Winchester Central, it was actually possible someone eventually would. And then some less-than-feeble-minded demon might remember that famous homing pigeon instinct to fly back to the junkyard in a crisis. And said demon might follow and get their claws into him long enough to cajole the angel outside to save him. Seeing Dean play the damsel in distress was very, very tempting. But not enough to risk anyone getting a real crack at Cas's shiny soul.

No, the best option was to have the two lovebirds back in one nest. Safer for them both.

Thanks to them being so motherfucking stupid, things were running behind. Dean wasn't taking the bait, and Cas was sulking in a corner. Gotta step up the game, dearie, gotta convince them. Gotta get them back in good graces with each other, nauseating as that may be.

First things first, get out on the street where there're no landmines underfoot. Okay, move over pooch, need to dig out the cell phone. Well the blood goblet, really. _Damn_ , their methods were still so old-fashioned. Hmm. Another thing to fix when the time arrives… Now to find the right change for the call. Oh look, a hapless late-night jogger.

_Go on, Damn Spot, fetch…_

_  
_

* * *

"One of the main components of practical spell casting is _belief_ ," Bobby said, nudging the book they'd been practicing short incantations from closer to Castiel. "If you don't believe it'll work, chances are a heck of a lot higher it won't, simple as that."

"You're suggesting that by deciding something will come to pass, it shall?" Castiel asked, removing his reading glasses and setting them aside.

"Not exactly, no. What I'm saying is that the clearer your mental focus, the easier spells will come to you when you _do_ go to cast them. Right now your problem is that you're all sorts of mixed up about letting Dean leave without you."

Castiel heaved a sigh. "I've already told you, Bobby, that I have no wish to discuss Dean at this time. May we please just return to what we were doing?"

Tugging on the short whiskers of his beard in frustration, Bobby finally nodded. "Fine. Let's go outside and try a simple locator spell, then, if you think you're up to it."

Together they trudged out to the junkyard, bundled in winter weather gear. The temperature had dipped considerably since the Winchesters had left, and where before Cas had felt fairly comfortable in a jacket, gloves and scarf, now he was freezing.

"Okay," Bobby said, once they were in the middle of the junk yard. He pulled out a metal vehicle component and handed it to the angel. "This here is a distributor drive gear for a '77 Nova. There should be at least four more like it attached to cars in this yard. Find me one _._ "

Castiel honestly tried. He cleared his mind, just like Bobby taught him to, tucked away all of his disappointment at Dean and his lingering anger and confusion, and focused on the way the chilled air flowed in and out of his lungs. Fingers flexing, he willed the muscles there to be calm and relaxed, followed by his arms, his legs, his shoulders. Just when he was feeling the blank well of calm that he'd needed to do this exercise when they'd worked on it before (when Sam and Dean were there, but Cas wasn't thinking about that) Bobby spoke up.

"Some time today would be nice, Cas."

With a huff of frustration, Castiel's shoulders drooped. "I was almost prepared to search until you interrupted me," he growled.

"You need to find something or someone out on a hunt, you're not gonna have all this time to clear your mind," Bobby pointed out with maddening logic. "You'll need to just do it. So c'mon, son. Show me what ya got and just do it already."

It took over an hour of stops and false starts before Cas finally found a Nova in the yard at all. He didn't know much about vehicles (or really anything at all beyond what Dean had told him) which didn't help, but according to Bobby if he'd been focusing on the spell properly he should have been able to not only know what vehicle he was looking for, but open the hood and pull out the specific part he was looking for, _'especially with a focus in your hands'._ A headache throbbed at his right temple, though, and he was developing an eye twitch.

"May we stop for the time being?" he asked, doubting the hunter would have any objection. He'd been complaining about the cold since they'd exited the house.

"God, yes," Bobby agreed. "Let's go in, I'll throw a can of soup on so we can thaw out."

"I think I shall go straight to bed."

Bobby gave Cas a strange look, because it was rather unlike him to turn down the prospect of food, but in the end just nodded. "Well okay then. Get some rest. I'll make some extra and leave it in the fridge for ya, okay?"

Grateful, Castiel agreed. Once they were in the house he tripped up the stairs, intent on stripping down to go to sleep and nothing more. He was out almost before his head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 _Toad, that under cold stone  
Days and nights has thirty-one_  
 _Swelter'd venom sleeping got,_  
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.

_The chanting was familiar, like something he's heard quoted, but not quite right. A laugh breaking through the air. Not a witch's cackle like in movies, but like singing, a sort of bubbling vibration. She steps forward, wiry hair crackling, a breeze he cannot feel ruffles her robes, spills around her feet like trickles of water. Cold, clammy hands lift up and wrap around the king's shoulders and she draws forward as though for a kiss._

_He feels his heart pounding, his blood roaring through his body like a river. She mustn't touch the king. He tries to move forward and the swampy ground sucks at his feet._

_Her lips never meet the king's, but he moves closer to her, one step, two, before a white membrane covers her eyes. She smiles, wide, gummy, no teeth at all in her mouth. She sings her laughter again and raises the sword, plunging it into the King's shoulder and he falls. She withdraws, only to drive it forward, plunge into his body again and again and again and -_

Castiel woke to Bobby's hand on his shoulder, the older man's whiskered face close to his.

"Cas!" he was shouting, shaking him. "You okay? You sounded like you were dying there."

Wild-eyed, not entirely awake, Castiel looked around the room, but Dean wasn't there. Of course Dean wasn't there—in his pique, Cas had insisted he'd stay with Bobby, and now...

"I need to speak with Dean," Castiel said, pushing away the hunter's concern. "He's going to do something foolish, and I need to be there when he does."

Bobby, much to his credit, merely blinked at this pronouncement. "You seem awfully certain about that, son."

"I am."

"How?"

Throwing aside his bed covers, Castiel rose and walked to where his cell phone was charging across the room. He considered calling Dean, then gave that idea up almost as soon as it'd formed.

"Bobby, I know it is much to ask, but would you be willing to drive me to Kansas?"

"Of course. We'll just-"

"Now?" Castiel added. "Please?"

A deep inhalation of breath, and Bobby nodded. "Yeah, kid. I can do that. Let me just throw on some pants and we'll get going. But you've got to tell me what this is about on the way."

Castiel would be able to speak of the dream once he was a little closer to Dean, he knew, so he nodded his agreement. How he knew it wasn't like his other dreams, just a mish-mash of feelings and half-recovered memories, Cas wasn't certain, but this dream had the flavor of foreshadowing to it, a vision of a future that could be if Castiel wasn't with Dean when he faced the bushy haired watery witch. That was a possibility that Cas could not risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Two of Castiel's chosen weapons are a [side-handle baton](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baton_%28law_enforcement%29#Side-handle_baton), most often used by police officers, and [hari-shuriken](http://www.ninjainformationdatabase.com/shuriken.htm), mostly known as "throwing stars" come in many shapes.  
> \- These lines are from Shakespeare's "Macbeth" -- it is part of the famous "double, double, toil and trouble" witch's speech --. "Toad, that under cold stone, Days and nights has thirty-one, Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot"  
> \- Ironically, the hellhound's name "Damn Spot" also comes from MacBeth.


	6. PART II - CHAPTER 6: Myriad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam starts to realize he's in trouble, and gifts are received from a dubious ally.

Mid-February  


Dean mumbled an apology to Gail when they returned to Salina before burying himself in the backlog of work, steadfastly refusing to discuss Castiel with either her or Sam.

And so Sam and Gail discussed them with each other instead. Someone had to.

A few days after they'd returned home, Sam sat in Gail's kitchen, sipping mineral water and watching as she put together a snack of fruit, cheese cubes and mini-croissants. She moved with economy, like someone who really knew what they were doing and what order to do it in. He supposed that was a good trait for a doctor to have.

When she sat at last and took up a grape from the platter, he found himself following the motion of her fingers (they were long and looked strong, the nails short and unpainted) as she popped it into her mouth. She seldom wore lipstick (or any other makeup) while at home. Sam found that interesting. Here she was with a house full of men and didn't feel the need to put on a seductive air.

Of course two of the men were spoken for (with each other, no less) so if she wanted to impress someone, Sam was the only one left to seduce. Er, well, cater to as a potential… to feel the need to dress up for and... _Crap_.

Sam wondered if perhaps she didn't feel the need to impress him because she wasn't interested in him in that manner (and why that should disappoint him). Maybe she was just so comfortable with him now that she didn't mind if he saw her in a natural state? (Which was still quite attractive, Sam mused.) He sighed internally.

Here he was, psychoanalyzing himself and his landlord/neighbor/friend in a way that could be trouble. His romantic past—to put it mildly—was a disaster, and he'd promised himself after the fiasco that was Ruby that he wasn't going to go there again, ever. His mind hadn't changed with the integration of Sam and Samael; seeing the pain Dean went through right after losing Cas, if anything, solidified his resolve that some beings were better off alone. It wasn't anything he'd publicized or felt the need to talk at great length about, but Sam had been quite determined.

The great dramatic romance of Dean and Cas must really be getting to him if he was even _looking_ at Gail. It was sort of an overwhelming force that dragged you along for the ride. They way they always looked at one another, even when the other wasn't looking; the small gestures; even the not-so-subtle making out on the sofa was like the sappy montage portion of a good romantic comedy: you couldn't help but find yourself sucked in and before you knew it you were not only rooting for the on-screen couple but also thinking _They're so perfect for each other. There must be someone just as perfect for me_.

Sam wondered if they had any notion how much their relationship influenced everyone near them. He doubted it. Dean, for one, would be horrified to know that his 'little' brother thought of his life as a supernaturally-themed, ultra violent rom-com.

Gail was sipping her water and looking down at the table in such a way that Sam could tell she was gearing up to ask questions she didn't want to ask. He had a feeling he knew what they might be.

"They didn't break up, did they?" No need to ask who she meant: Sam was surprised she'd held off asking this long.

"No, they're just being idiots right now," Sam snorted, spearing a cheese cube with a toothpick. The bright green plastic on the end of the toothpick crinkled as he rolled it in his fingers before popping the cheese in his mouth. He'd always loved the 'fancy' toothpicks with brightly colored bits of yellow, green and red plastic on them. Swallowing, Sam continued, "They've been having a long and stupid mini-cold war about something they could easily settle by just talking it out. But Dean… Oh, God." With mock horror contorting his features, Sam said, "Dean doesn't talk. And he certainly doesn't believe he has _feelings_."

Gail chuckled lightly. "Can't let down his guard?"

"You'd think he would by now. I mean, with Cas, I thought he'd be different." Sam rolled his eyes. "Now Cas is doing the same thing Dean is, and – gah!" He shook his head in frustration.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "So, is Castiel mirroring Dean's behavior because he's always been this way, or is this a recent development?"

Sam could tell she was asking as a doctor, wondering if Castiel's own personality was asserting itself or if he was still lost and therefore using Dean as his template. "Well… I don't think I can really judge it in this instance. They've never been quite this _involved_." Sam uncomfortably shifted in his chair.

"Really?" Gail's eyebrows raised a bit. "I thought they dated in high school."

"Not so much 'dated', exactly." Sam squirmed. He really hated to lie to Gail. He was already avoiding the weapons issue, and even though he and Dean had agreed to not give the doctor too many specifics on their pasts even if she outright asked, Castiel was right – she did deserve the truth, because she was… special.

Damn it, he was so fucked.

Sam was stuck parsing his words as much as he could. It still made him feel bad, but he couldn't tell Gail the truth. Not yet, and not like this. For the first time in a long time Sam appreciated the Winchester need for keeping hunting a secret. He and Gail weren't even... it wasn't like they were anything to each other, and he already dreaded how she'd inevitably react when she found out the truth. The last time he'd felt this way was a few weeks after meeting Jess, because even the others he'd met along the way—Sarah, Madison, hell, even Ruby—all knew or found out about hunting relatively quickly. Gail was still an innocent, still uninitiated in their world, and part of Sam desperately wanted to keep her that way.

"Whatever there was between them, it was never said aloud. I mean, okay, it was pretty clear to just about anyone who knew them, how they really felt…" He shrugged.

Gail nodded. "It must have been harder to be open about it, back then. As a teen, especially."

"Always is," Sam sighed. "But, well… Dean's not actually gay, exactly. I mean, there's never been another _guy_ , ever. Just... just Cas."

"Oh," she said softly, and he could see the sparkle in her eye. "There's a saying, you know… ' _Sexual orientation only matters until you find your soul mate_ '."

"That just about sums it up," Sam couldn't help a small laugh. "Funny thing, when they first met, Dean didn't even like Cas. Totally rubbed him the wrong way – Cas was rigid, intense, not much of a sense of humor. Dean may have looked at him like he was an alien, but he couldn't look away either." Sam grinned at the memories.

"He never told Cas how he felt until now, did he? They didn't actually date at all." Shaking her head, a corner of Gail's lips quirked up. "Bobby led me to believe they did."

Sam chuckled, looking embarrassed. "He may have exaggerated that part. Maybe he thought it would've been good for them both. As it was... at least I think it was."

"Well, I...," and here Gail looked embarrassed, "I was a bit eager to believe Bobby, wasn't I? I mean, I could have looked into things further instead of just taking his word, but I wanted to believe him." She fluttered her eyelashes and flopped her hands like a fainting Austen heroine. "Thought it was ro _maaaan_ tic," she trilled throatily, and Sam outright laughed.

"So what's the real story?"

The easy and non-accusing way Gail asked the question made something tighten in Sam's throat. He was just going to tell her how amazing she was for taking everything so calmly, just beginning to consider that maybe he should just tell her the whole, God's honest truth when he noticed the tightness about her knuckles, the deepening of the fine lines bracketing her mouth.

He shook his head. No, now was not the time for that, he told himself, refusing to acknowledge that he was perhaps taking the coward's way out when he said, "In school, Dean was with a new girl every few months. After school, that increased to sometimes two, three a month, depending on his mood."

Gail's eyes widened. "Wow. Healthy appetite."

"Filling the void, if you ask me…" Sam bit his tongue. He could analyze himself, but it wasn't his place to do the same to Dean in front of anyone else. _But Gail isn't just anyone_ , a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. If Sam didn't know any better he'd think it was a Sammy splinter of his personality trying to assert itself over his Samael tendency to favor secrets.

 _And you need a confidante too, for once_ , the whisper insisted, and he relented a little bit by saying, "I mean, I get why he did it. It's tough needing something when you're young and don't fit in. Dean went for girls and I... I stuck my head in books and never looked up until I got to college. By then it was easier and I could start over because no one knew me yet."

Gail smiled a little sadly at him. "I can relate to that. I got teased by my brother and sister for being the 'egghead'. When I decided on medical school, it got really strained. Everyone was all 'Home isn't good enough for you, Gail? You have to go to Boston for that fancy education?' Like I shouldn't believe I could be myself if I was away from them. I mean, the way they acted sometimes..."

Sam tilted his head. "Yeah. Exactly. Like your whole identity should be tied into your family. But if the family is really screwed up…" He stopped, wondering just how far into his personal life he ought to go, if once again he was risking revealing too much.

But Gail plowed ahead, her voice raising a little as she continued and her obvious passion (Sam refused to say irritation, even if that was more accurate) shown through. "I love my family, but I can't shove myself into their mold. They thought everyone should just get married, have kids, stay home. Except," she laughed wryly, somehow making it sound nothing like laughter at all, " _they_ are the ones that wound up out of town in the end. Sister's in San Bernardino doing real estate, married with two kids now. Brother's a store manager in Baltimore, girlfriend and a kid. I guess they're happy enough, and it's not that I wouldn't like some of that… someday. But what I wanted was to go out in the world and learn how to help people. Do what I could to make a difference in their lives." She smiled fondly up at Sam. "Guess that's selfish in its own way, eh?"

He smiled back. "Don't be ridiculous. How can helping people the way you do be selfish? I mean, what you did for us alone..." Trailing off, Sam thought this would be a good opportunity to find out something he'd wanted to know for a while. "Gail, why did you? Help us, I mean, not just in the hospital, I mean, but with the duplex and finding jobs and..." Sam stopped when he realized he was beginning to sound suspicious and ungrateful and said instead, "Shouldn't it be a doctor-patient ethics issue or something?"

"Actually, no. I officially removed myself from Castiel's case the day he was released. I became just a neighbor who happened to know medicine, in the event help was needed." She flushed and lowered her eyes. "It's a _little_ suspect, I guess. I know there are some people at work who think I'm pushing boundaries."

Sam frowned. "You're not in trouble for us, are you?"

"No, no," she looked back up, her mouth twitching. "They just question my sanity."

Huffing a laugh, Sam asked, "So why _did_ you bring us into your life? There must be some reason besides questionable sanity." The tone was teasing but Sam hoped she'd answer seriously. He wasn't disappointed.

Gail bit her lip, and looked down again. "Every doctor, somewhere in their career, finds a case that just grabs them. Gets into you deep, makes you hope, makes you work that much harder to fix everything. For me, from the moment I walked into that room and saw Dean clinging to Castiel on that bed, you and Bobby there, supporting... it was this case. I saw you all hanging together no matter what, even when the odds were so high. The care and love between all of you was so powerful…"

She stopped, took a deep breath. "I never felt as much connection in my own family. I guess I wanted that, even if it was just vicariously. And now I wonder if you'll think I've just adopted you guys, like pets."

Sam's eyes had slowly widened as she explained. He hadn't really considered she might be lonely. "No, Gail, I'm not thinking that at all." Reaching out, he took her hand, which had been clenched in worry. He rubbed the knuckles until they relaxed. "Everything you've done has been incredible, and you'll never know how much difference it's made to us." He cleared his throat. "I know I'm glad to be here."

Gail gave a shaky breath, and her fingers turned so that she could squeeze his hand. With a tiny smile, she said, "Thank you, Sam. I'm glad too."

Sam's heart twisted. Yeah, he would have to confess everything soon, and hope that when he did Gail didn't change her mind about them entirely.

A knock on the doorframe interrupted them. Gail and Sam jumped apart as if they'd been caught doing something illicit, but they needn't have bothered, because it was just Dean and he wasn't paying attention to what their hands had been doing at all. In fact, he stood there glaring down at the screen of his (new, at Sam's insistence, because it'd been years since he'd updated and it was beyond time) phone. It took Sam clearing his throat and asking in a pointed manner, "Did you need something, Dean?" before his brother's deep frown eased the tiniest fraction.

"Look at this," Dean said, shoving the phone into Sam's face.

It was too close for Sam to do much of anything other than cross his eyes in an attempt to look at it, and he took the device out of Dean's hands and held it at a normal distance. He'd been expecting maybe an email from Bobby about Cas (as the older hunter had been sending them steady updates) or an online article with a lead to a potential case, but what he saw instead was a plain SMS text that was a series of numbers. He blinked again. "Coordinates?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted. "Same ones as before."

"And you didn't get anything else, just that?"

"Nope, nothing more," Dean said, lifting his eyebrow significantly. It was unusual for an anonymous anyone to have Dean's phone number, let alone for that anonymous someone to send him texts of random coordinates.

"Coordinates?" Gail asked, and Sam admitted that he jumped a little bit, having momentarily forgotten that the doctor was there. Dean startled too, and Sam wondered if his brother had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn't registered Gail's presence at all.

"Um, yeah!" Dean grinned, the worry and stress that had been dragging down his face vanishing as he transformed himself from serious hunter Dean into the laid-back man who was more familiar to her. Even though Sam had been expecting the change in attitude it was still disconcerting, and Sam didn't know what Gail would think. He snuck a glance over at her but she didn't seem perturbed in the slightest. "You know, for, like, geo-caching," Dean continued, the lie tripping easily off his tongue. "Got a set of coordinates that I'd love to check out."

"Oh, really? That sounds like fun! I've always wondered-" Gail smiled, and she might have asked something else if the familiar sound of a car pulling into the driveway hadn't interrupted them. Sam let out a tiny sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was for Gail to inadvertently invite herself along on a hunt that she thought was going to be some sort of recreational sport. He shot Dean a glare over the doctor's head as she stood to see who'd arrived.

"Dean," Gail called out, sounding pleased, "Bobby and Castiel are here."

 

* * *

"Bobby," Dean greeted the older hunter with a slap on the back. "Cas," he nodded at his erstwhile lover, and received a chilly, "Dean," in response.

"So, um..." he said, pulling out a chair to sit at the kitchen table. They were on the Winchester's side of the duplex. Sam was watching, his eyes ping-ponged between the three other men and the open laptop in front of him. Gail had decided to stay on her side of the unit so they could all 'catch up'. She'd given Dean a significant look when she said that, making Dean silently moan over the fact that no matter what happened in his and Cas's... well, no matter whose fault it may really be that they weren't talking, he was the one expected to fix things.

"Cas, you wanna tell the boys why we're here?" Bobby prompted, relieving Dean from the misery of wondering if he'd seem too pouty for asking that very question.

Looking down at his feet (in polished dress shoes, crease-less black slacks, really soft-looking sweater that was cotton or wool or some natural fiber in a rich burgundy that made Castiel look beyond enticing and Dean thought his recently developed preoccupation with Cas's wardrobe was beginning to be disturbing) Castiel replied, "I had a dream that Dean was going to go somewhere on his own, very soon. A..." he hesitated over the word before saying, "a hunt. And that if I allowed him to go alone... there would be terrible consequences."

"What kind of consequences?" Sam prompted.

"Death," Cas said softly. "Not just a bodily death, but one of the soul, and... not just for Dean. For us all."

Maybe if Castiel's dream hadn't been such a dire warning Dean would have felt more insulted about being discussed like he wasn't even in the room. But then Dean's gaze flickered over to the cell phone at Sam's elbow. He asked his brother a question with a mere twitch of his eyebrows and received an answer in the same manner.

"In your dream, how'd I find out about this hunt, Cas?" Dean asked, trying to ignore the way the slighter man seemed to flinch at the sound of his voice. "And where was it? You seem pretty certain this wasn't just a memory."

"I am certain," Castiel nearly whispered. "The dream was rife with symbolism, so please don't ask me to explain what sort of message, but... you received one, and you left on your own, and you perished. And the world will follow, if you do."

Dean swallowed heavily. Great, more apocalyptic foreshadowing. "A message," he repeated. "Do you know where this hunt was, Cas?"

"No." Castiel shook his head in frustration. "Just that it would be very, very soon. As soon as I woke I asked Bobby to drive us here." Blinking, he said, "You've already received the message, haven't you?"

Dean wanted to deny it, but how could he? "I got a text about an hour ago."

"Damn it," Bobby snarled, summing up how Dean felt eloquently. Turning to the Sam, the older hunter asked, "You got a location for those coordinates yet, boy?"

"Uh... yeah. How'd you-?"

"I assumed you weren't just on your computer surfing for porn with the three of us in the room. So where's it at?"

Face burning, Sam replied, "A small town outside of Cincinnati called Loveland."

"I'm assuming you're going," Castiel said stiffly, his disapproval clear.

"Cas, if you're having apocalypse-worthy visions, we can't _not_ go," Dean pointed out, not unreasonably in his opinion.

Castiel scowled at the floor and nodded. "Please get me when you're ready to leave." He went to the living room to wait.

"Well, this is gonna be fun." Dean barely checked the urge to go after Cas and instead forced himself to turn towards the bathroom.

"I'd go with you boys, but I've gotta get back to my phones." Bobby said to Sam, voice pitched low, breaking the awkward silence that fell as Cas left the room. "He might do better with all three of us going along."

"Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate you bringing him down."

"Least I could do." Raising his voice, Bobby called out his good-bye. Dean heard the silent _'don't mess this up, idjit_ '. Dean was determined not to.

* * *

****

They were all ready to go, just throwing the duffel bags into the Impala, in fact, when Dean's phone chirped its signal for an incoming text.

"Sonovabitch," he breathed.

"What is it?" Dean flashed his screen towards Sam. "More coordinates?" Sam looked at the phone as if it'd betrayed him. "Can't be a coincidence. Same source?"

"Seems likely."

Sam tapped a few buttons on his phone, checking the numbers. "Great, this one is nowhere near the first. Now what're we gonna do?"

Castiel glared at Dean as if the second set of numbers was a nefarious plot on his part, no doubt knowing what it would mean. Dean winced but said, "We'll have to split up and investigate both of them."

"It's probably for the best." Sam shifted on his big feet, and Dean knew what he was going to say before he said it. "So Cas, do you wanna come with me or...?"

"He's coming with me, Sam," Dean cut in. Now they both glared at him. "Cas, you and I have to talk to each other sometime and try to fix this mess, don't we?" Dean said. Sam's eyebrows rose (no doubt because the idea of Dean Winchester wanting to share his feelings was possibly a sign of yet another apocalypse) but Dean continued on, staring right at Castiel. "Whattya say, Cas?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed and for a bad minute Dean thought he was going to refuse and go with Sam. Thankfully Cas nodded, grudgingly, and got into the Impala. Dean smirked over the hood of the car at his brother, unable to help the wide grin splitting his features. _Cas chose me, so take that, Sammy, you with your little angels-only club._

"God, you're pathetic," Sam said, but he was laughing as he said it, so Dean knew he wasn't really upset. Dean's smile grew as he reached for the door handle. He paused as Sam said, "Hey, Dean."

"Yeah, Sam?"

Sam swallowed. "Be safe. And good luck."

He didn't need to tell Dean good luck with _what_. "Yeah man. You too."

* * *

****

The drive to Ohio, despite Dean's initial optimism, was accomplished mainly in silence. Any subject Dean brought up Castiel responded to with one-word answers. The single night they stopped on the way there—in a halfway decent hotel just outside of Columbia, Missouri—Dean booked a double room, since sleeping in the same bed was being presumptuous just yet. He would've welcomed a talk, even while dreading it, and thought a better hotel with amenities and a Starbucks (guy loved his frou-frou coffee and teas just as much as Sam) might help ease some of Castiel's chilly behavior. But Cas just crawled into bed, wrapped himself in the blankets and gave him the cold shoulder.

 _Fine_. See if he tried to get a nice place again. They'd sleep in the car first.

* * *

****

Route 22 brought them to the northwest corner of Loveland just after nightfall. Dean cursed winter's frustratingly short daylight hours as he cruised (despite his angry decision of the night before) for a decent hotel. He'd passed road sign after road sign promising various chain motels on the way in: Comfort Inn, Holiday Inn Express, Super 8, all at least thirty to forty minutes out of their way.

Screw it, Cas didn't appreciate his attempt to be nice last time. Might as well get whatever the hell place he could find so long as it got them close to their destination.

As the night grew darker, with nothing even viable crossing their path, Dean was seriously considering an abandoned house to squat in for the night. It wasn't like Castiel could have any lower opinion of him.

On that maudlin and self-pitying note, he finally saw a flash of gaudy neon, the universally recognized symbol for 'sleazy' and in this case 'motel' (with the bonus of being heart-shaped – fantastic). He pulled gratefully into the parking lot. He was getting tired and more than a bit irritable.

"Dean?"

The questioning delivery of his name was the first Castiel had spoken to Dean in hours. He threw the car into park.

"Wait here, I'm gonna get a room," Dean grunted sharply.

The dubious look Cas gave the building was clear, but to his credit he kept any reservations to himself and merely nodded.

The lobby was an explosion of pink and red. Crepe paper hearts hung from the cigarette yellowed, suspended popcorn-tile ceiling; plastic cling cherubs sporting tiny wings and enormous diapers were stuck to the front desk. A bored clerk leaned his chin on the palm of his hand, flipping absently through an outdated, tattered gossip magazine. The headline proclaimed _Sources Say_ _Brad and Angie to Split—He Still Loves Jen!_

"Gonna update you, buddy," Dean said with a lop-sided grin, "Brangelina? Still going strong."

A roll of his eyeballs and the clerk lowered the magazine. "Yeah, I got that, thanks." Now the clerk not only looked bored, he looked annoyed as well. Narrow brown eyes squinted briefly at Dean. Without the magazine in front of his face, Dean could see the clerk was young, barely more than a kid. "Sorry, we're full up."

"Really?" Dean flicked an eyebrow. "'Cuz the cheerful neon outside says otherwise."

Leaning forward, the kid flipped a switch on top of the desk. The "Vacancy" on the outdoor sign was joined by a "No".

"There. Now me and the sign are in agreement."

"Now you're just being a dick." Part of Dean wanted to turn around and leave the smug pimply faced brat to his old gossip, but then he thought of Cas sitting out in the Impala, what he would think if Dean walked out without getting a room, the frosty silence he'd have to endure inside his baby while he looked for another place...

Leaning closer, Dean checked the kid's nametag—which was nearly obliterated from visibility by Transformers stickers—gave his name as _Paulie_. Christ, no wonder he had a chip on his shoulder.

"Look, _Paulie_. My... friend... is out in the car, and he's really tired, and we need a room."

Something on the teenager's face changed at Dean's hesitation over the word ' _friend'_ followed by the pronoun _'he'_.

"Your boyfriend?" Paulie asked, a strange note in his voice. Almost as if that would make a difference.

Taking a chance and hoping his hunch was right (plus, there might have been some part of him, deeply, deeply buried, of course, that reveled in the chance to stake a public claim to Castiel, even if it was just to a bored teen) Dean said, "Yeah. My _boyfriend_. That a problem?"

"No!" the kid rushed to say. "No, it's not a problem."

Now he was staring at Dean with a flush on his cheeks, looking him up and down as if he'd never seen anyone like him before, like—oh. Well, that was uncomfortable. Dean knew he was hot, and he was used to jailbait checking him out, but it was usually _female_ jailbait, and... yeah. Uncomfortable.

"Hey, kid, everything okay?" Dean snapped his fingers in front of the clerk's face.

"Um... oh!" The boy shook his head as if waking from a very pleasant daydream. Dean manfully resisted the urge to squawk about objectification. "Well, I wasn't exaggerating too much when I said we didn't have any rooms. We only have one left. It's the, erm..." Paulie trailed off into a mumble.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

"It's the _Tunnel of Love_ honeymoon suite." The teen's ears were bright red; he looked like he wished he could melt into the counter.

Dean coughed. "The _what_ now? No," he held up his hands as Paulie cringed and readied himself to say it again, "I heard you, but... wow. Okay. I guess we'll have to take it if it's the only room you've got left." Naming a motel room the _Tunnel of Love_ suite was pervy, even by Dean's standards. No wonder the poor kid had wanted to pretend they didn't have any rooms left rather than try to sell Dean on that one.

"It's pretty bad," the kid warned him, even as he turned to the fuchsia lock box behind the counter to pull out the room key. "The town of Loveland has a theme, and they like to stick to it." Sliding the key across the counter, his embarrassment somewhat abated, he said, "You could say folks here _love_ love."

That phrase was familiar, distractingly so. Thinking of an overlarge, underdressed Cherub, Third Class, with a penchant for hugs that no one appreciated, Dean realized, "Shit. It's almost Valentine's Day, isn't it?"

Paulie gave him a strange look. "Yeee-ah. Tomorrow. Aren't you guys in town for the Valentine's Day Love Festival?"

 _Love Festival?_ The 'love' theme was definitely over-worked.

"Yeah, yeah of course," Dean covered. "I've just... been a little distracted lately. God, Valentine's Day, and Cas is..." He bit his tongue.

"Fighting with your boyfriend, huh?"

Dean had absolutely no idea why he was talking to a gangly kid about his freaking love life (or lack thereof) but Dean found himself nodding in agreement.

"Recognized it. From my parents, you know? My dad gets that same look on his face when he realizes he's in trouble with mom." The way Paulie suggested this said that his dad frequently was in trouble with his mom. "Have you tried apologizing?"

"What? Of course..." (Though maybe not in so many words. Okay. No words.)

" _Really_ apologizing." The kid seemed to be warming to his subject. "You know, not just because you don't want him to be mad at you anymore. Like, even if you're not sorry for doing whatever you _did_ , you can be sorry that doing it _hurt_ him."

Dean blinked. He was getting advice from a miniature Dr. Phil. In a motel lobby decorated in hot pink paper hearts. He was just fishing for an excuse to run far, far away when the chime above the door jingled and Castiel walked in. That black overcoat billowed in such a familiar way and his hair was mussed from resting his head against the window and-

"Is there a problem, Dean?" Cas asked, blue eyes intense on his.

"Wow. Okay," Paulie squeaked. Dean looked at the overwhelmed clerk. "Yeah. You need to do what I suggested." The kid nodded. "Like, _now_. And keep doing it until it works."

Dean barely bit back a smirk. Yeah, his... Cas was hot. Even teenagers in Bumfuck, Ohio, recognized the hotness.

"Thanks Paulie. I'll get right on that." With a smile and a jaunty salute, Dean grabbed the room key with one hand and Cas's arm with the other, dragging him out of the lobby and towards—he took a quick look at the room key—suite 4L. As the motel was one story, the 'L' must mean 'left'. And there it was. On the very end of the row, a bright red door was labeled '4L'. The key slipped in the lock easily.

"What did the child wish for you to do?" Castiel spoke stiffly, a little suspiciously.

Dean was going to answer him (with a dismissive 'doesn't matter', but hey, it's an answer) when he was stopped dead by the sight of the room.

It was... when Paulie said it was bad, he'd been very generous. A Pepto-pink kitchenette with a silver spray painted folding card table topped with a bouquet of metallic cherubs-and-hearts, to the right. To their left, a small 'screen' (in actuality a piece of plywood with crude heart shapes cut out with had to be a jigsaw) also spray painted silver. Around that, smack dab in the middle of the room, a monstrosity that Dean – despite numerous bad motels with varying themes – had somehow managed to never come across: A heart-shaped bed.

Other than the table, that bed, one lone, rickety looking cream divan (with more than one questionable stain Dean could see even from this distance), and a small stand with a TV… there was nothing else in the room. No sofa, no chair, hell, no pictures on the walls (though it might have been a mercy). The aforementioned walls were painted in alternating black and bright red stripes, nicely highlighting the blood-red behemoth (and God, what a word to be thinking right now) in the center of the room.

"Uuuuuuh... I'm gonna go get the bags," Dean stuttered just before he made his escape.

* * *

****

Castiel woke after four hours of sleep, bleary and cranky, clinging to the edge of the bed as far away from Dean as he could possibly get. Dean, on the other hand, was sprawled across his side of the mattress on his belly, the bed's thin burgundy velour blanket clinging to the soft (squeezable) swell of his ass. His (luscious) lips were gently parted and intermittent, shuffling wheeze-snores emanated from within.

Cursing internally at his inadvertent horniness, Castiel rolled the last inch off the bed and fell on the floor with a soft thump. He was still clumsy with sleep, and his knees jarred painfully. He cursed aloud then, colorfully. Flopping an arm atop the mattress, he leveraged himself up. Peering over the edge, he saw the thud-and-cuss episode hadn't disturbed Dean in the slightest. If anything, he snored louder, and nuzzled his face into his pillow.

"Dean," Castiel hissed, pulling himself to his feet. The hunter snored on. "Dean," he tried again, and got a drowsy murmur. Highly unusual; Dean was a light sleeper and any small noises usually had him jumping out of bed.

 _He's faking it_ , Castiel suddenly knew with blinding clarity. Truly pissed now, he stomped across the floor to his duffle and noisily withdrew clothes and toiletries. Then he navigated across the room – bumping into the bed hard enough to shake it – to the bathroom. _Ugh_. It was just as pink as everything else, right down to the cracked glazing on the bathtub.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, and climbed into the shower.

When he was out and dressed, Dean was still "asleep", now on his back. One long-fingered hand was splayed out on his (kissable) stomach, the other artfully thrown over his (thick) head. With a low growl, Castiel snatched the blanket away. The sudden chill had Dean practically jack-knifing off the bed.

"What the fuck, Cas?" he bellowed, not bothering with any sort of modulation to perpetuate his feigned sleepiness.

"Get up," Castiel said. "We're here for a reason other than lounging in a ghastly pink flop house. I'd like to finish our task and go home." Jaw set, he added, "I thought you would be eager to discover the source of the coordinates sent to your phone."

Something passed through Dean's eyes, there and gone before Cas could figure out what it was. "Fine," he grit out, crawling out of bed and stretching his (goddamned lick-able) back. "There better be hot water, or there will be hell to pay."

Listening to the spray of water, Castiel cursed himself. He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. One of them – likely him – was going to crack soon.

* * *

****

Admitting even to himself, Dean really just wanted to lay in bed with his not-boyfriend in the hopes of 'accidental' sleepy-time cuddles – no, make that _gropes_ —God, he didn't need to make this any more emasculating, just because he was lonely and it was Valentine's Day and he just really, really wanted to be held—was difficult, but Dean did. He also could admit that he wanted to talk it out. Really, seriously, full on emotion-baring weep-on-each-other's-shoulders (and hopefully kiss-and-make-up-all-night) talking. All of which were pretty much grounds for turning in his Manhood Club card.

Admitting all this only to be utterly rebuffed was worse. Dean found himself brooding like a douchey teenage vampire all through breakfast, wondering if he was doomed to his right hand for companionship for the rest of his life. If he'd bothered to notice the appreciative glances from the waitress in the tiny café, or the fact that she scrawled her number across the top of their check in bright purple gel ink, he wouldn't have felt so unwanted. Instead, he was wondering how to break through and (dear God) talk things out with Castiel.

As they drove away from the café, Cas said suddenly, "Dean, this place is familiar…"

Dean finally paid attention to something besides Cas, and looked more closely at the town around them. "Hey," he growled softly, "yeah, we've been here before."

"Blood," Castiel said hazily. "I taste… greasy… uncooked meat and..." He winced at the sudden clear memory. "The man in the wheelchair looked frail but he was a powerful aching void… it was so easy for him to bring out my hunger for-" Abruptly, Castiel stopped with a gasp.

"You okay?" Dean asked softly. A hand went to Cas's shoulder, and the slighter man leaned into his touch.

"Yes," Castiel said, sounding more certain than he looked. "What did we face here? I have memories of both the old man and a..." He hesitated before glancing up at Dean through his lashes, shyly, perhaps embarrassed. "A large naked man hugging us. All of us: you, myself, and Sam. The two memories seem rather disparate."

Dean's eyes narrowed. _How_ could he have not _known_ this was the same town they'd been in years ago? On Valentine's Day, as well. Dean hadn't bothered then to learn the town's name: it was just another suburb of Cincinnati. Now the coordinates bothered him even more. Coincidences never happened to the Winchesters.

He detailed their encounter with the cupid, and when he'd finished Castiel was silent for a long moment.

Hesitantly, Cas asked, "Do you think it was he who called us here? Do you think one of my former... compatriots has heard what befell me and wishes to help?"

There was a brief flare of panic in Dean's chest. Cas had never indicated before that he missed his brothers and sisters, not at all, and none of them had bothered to reach out to Cas. As far as Dean'd known, Castiel hadn't even considered trying to contact them either. Now the possibility there was an angel trying to reach Castiel filled Dean with more dread than he thought imaginable. He pulled himself together and realized something very basic.

"An angel wouldn't need to text us, Cas. They'd just zap to wherever you are. I really don't think it's an angel calling us here."

Disappointment etched the corners of Castiel's eyes, and Dean felt like an ass. Just because the guy had never mentioned other angels didn't mean he never wondered. After this case, Dean would suggest strongly that Sam explain to Cas how there was another fallen angel in the world, that he wasn't utterly alone.

* * *

****

Directing Dean across town (since he still ignored the GPS) was a good distraction from the pit-like feeling in Castiel's stomach. He'd been fairly happy, living in blissful ignorance at the duplex with Dean ( _and Sam and Gail_ , his mind added with a tired, charitable sigh), and never dwelling on thoughts of what family he may have had elsewhere. He'd been perfectly fine to concentrate on what he shared with the Winchesters.

Now, with things so strained between him and Dean, when he could barely hold a conversation with Sam and Bobby without tasting betrayal on the back of his tongue, the idea he could try to contact true family (who hadn't tried to contact _him_ ) festered.

Had he even had close friends among the angels? Did any of them wonder what happened to him? Dean's reaction indicated they probably knew exactly where he was. Feeling that he was so uncared for, was allowed to wander the earth, amnesiac and confused… It wounded deeply. And it made him consider in a whole new light Dean's withholding the truth of his past. How might he have reacted at the start, to learn he was a creature of celestial intent, one apparently unwanted by his own kind? That his family was literally legion, but not a single member had looked for him?

It would have set his early progress back severely, Castiel realized. He wasn't ready to absolve Dean's lies about other things, nor his method of dealing with their problems. But he felt the already-sprouted stirrings of forgiveness in his heart grow that much more.

"Turn right," he directed. "According to the GPS, we're there."

 _There_ turned out to be a largish stone building surrounded by snow-covered garden ornaments and with a neatly shoveled concrete pathway. A sign to the right of the entry way read _'Loveland Castle'._

"A tourist trap?" Dean asked, squinting past the snowflakes that were beginning to drift down. "You sure we're in the right spot?"

"Yes," Castiel assured him, "the coordinates match."

"Oookay, then."

Dean found parking and they exited the Impala. Castiel drew his scarf tighter around his neck; it had begun to snow in earnest, and as he watched the flakes come down Cas realized that he'd left his gloves at the motel.

Dean, on the other hand, was dressed in his customary open-front layers and didn't appear to feel the cold at all – like, ever. He was probably accustomed to enduring whatever the weather threw at him, and didn't even think about it most times. Castiel wistfully recalled nights in bed, curled against the larger man's warmth, tucking his toes behind Dean's knees and listening to the hunter good-naturedly complain _they're frigging popsicles, man, just don't put 'em any higher._

"Do we have a plan here?" Castiel asked.

"A plan?" Dean said this like it'd just occurred to him that they weren't in town for pleasure. "Oh, yeah. Well, um, Sam and I usually just case a place until we figure out what's going on."

"...I see." Castiel didn't, but felt that saying so would be counterproductive.

As soon as they reached the entrance, and saw a few people were inside already, Dean pulled Cas to him. "C'mere, sweetheart."

Castiel started at the nickname as much as the physicality; they'd never had pet names for one another, so it was a little jarring. He was surprised but also felt a little jump inside his heart. It wasn't much, but it was the first touch in several weeks and he'd forgotten how wonderful it felt being so near Dean's body. Maybe they should talk for real, try to work things out tonight…

Dean wrapped his arm around Cas's waist, then leaned in to whisper, "We'll need a cover story, just in case anyone asks. So we're boyfriends here for the Love Festival. That's what the motel clerk believed, so let's just stick to the story. Small town, and all, so who knows, someone might know him and ask around."

A cover story. Of course. A very lame one, at that. Castiel felt something plummet within him; Dean didn't really desire to be close to him. It was convenience and nothing more. Fine. He'd make the most of it. He wrapped his own arm around Dean's waist, and stuck two of his fingers into the belt loop of Dean's denims.

That seemed to discomfit Dean, causing him to slip briefly on a patch of slick snow. Only Castiel's firm grip prevented the hunter from tumbling to the ground.

Wrapping his arms completely around Cas now, Dean mumbled into his neck, "Thanks, Cas."

The burning tension began to melt a little, with the closer contact. "It is no problem, _darling._ "

Dean sputtered. "Darling? That's a terrible nickname."

They tripped their way inside, passing a couple of teens and a mother with two children (she eyed them a little frostily). At the ticket counter was an old woman with tightly-permed lavender tinted hair. She scowled at them, seeming to disapprove of their closeness.

"I do not find myself fond of 'sweetheart' either," Castiel countered. "Two please," he said to the curmudgeon, taking a perverse delight in the disapproving tilt of her frown. He didn't much care for the opinion of anyone who would wear a sweater adorned with applique kittens romping through a field of hearts.

"You'll be having no need of tickets," the woman said, mouth tugging down further. "The Lady be waiting on you." Standing, the old woman revealed herself to be extremely short, and she walked with a pronounced limp.

Now Castiel felt a bit guilty for his uncharitable thoughts. Perhaps she didn't frown because she disapproved of him and Dean; it seemed there was some other cause for her distress, an ailment perhaps. Then her words caught up with Castiel.

"Lady?" Dean was swifter to understand what was happening than Cas.

"You'll have been the ones that have gotten her message, are you not?"

"If by _message_ you mean a suspicious text with coordinates leading here, then yeah," Dean said with a lift of his eyebrow.

"What else would I be meaning?" the woman snapped back. "Now come along, before I have more guests wanting tickets. Can't spend all day yapping at you here in the in-between."

"Yeah, because I bet this place is hopping," Dean snarked, eyes passing over one kitschy display to another.

"The in-between?" Castiel interjected.

"You must be the one she really wants to see," the elderly woman said approvingly. She motioned them through a small, previously unseen side door. "The Lady likes those that ask the right questions as opposed to the wrong ones."

"I didn't think there was any such thing as a wrong question," Dean said, squeezing his fingers into the soft flesh of Castiel's waist. Despite an exchanged glance of misgiving, Dean and Cas stepped through the low threshold.

A new voice, a woman's low-pitched and amused, said, "That and 'there's no such thing as a stupid question' is just something mothers and teachers tell dim-witted children to make them feel better about themselves."

The lavender-haired woman bowed to whoever had spoken. "Lady," the elderly creature groveled.

"Thank you for bringing them through," the voice said. "You may go now."

"Yes, my Lady." With another deferential bow, the old woman left.

"Step forward," the voice said.

Dean separated himself from Castiel and fell into a deceptively easy stance of readiness. "How about you show yourself, then tell me how the hell you got my phone number. Maybe explain what the hell is going on, what the fuck you want, and why we're here."

"Which question would you like me to answer first, handsome?" The woman's voice became even deeper as she stepped forward.

Of medium height, she had sallow skin, pale wide lips and deep set, muted blue-grey eyes. Dark reddish-brown hair brushed her shoulders. But what really grabbed attention was her outfit. It started with leopard print boots, went to bright green crepe pants, then finished with a wide-collared yellow-gold silk blouse. The blouse was unbuttoned from neck almost to her navel, and a hunk of unrefined amber swung between her breasts.

"Oh," she breathed as Castiel's eyes met hers. "Hello there. I am the Lady of Loveland. You may call me Tyronoe," she said, holding out her hand. It took Cas several heartbeats before he tentatively extended his hand in return.

Dean snapped forward, grabbing his hand. "Whoa! Hey there, what's one of the first rules of hunting, sparky?"

"I can assure you I mean your paramour no harm, Dean Winchester," Tyronoe said with amusement. Her chuckle somehow vibrated in her throat, deep and rumbly. "In fact, I wish to help. You are the creature who is currently calling himself Castiel Singer, are you not?"

"I am," Cas hesitated. She not only knew their names but that he wasn't entirely as he seemed. He'd felt momentarily relaxed by her very presence. But Dean, the most paranoid person he knew, had shaken him up. Now he was focused, watching her closely.

"Don't tell her anything else, Cas. We don't know what she is."

"Why, Dean," Tyronoe said, touching her fingers to her chest in an effected manner, "What makes you think that I'm anything other than run-of-the-mill human?"

"The fact that you're saying there's anything _but_ humans out there could be a tip-off."

Tyronoe winked at Castiel. "I can see why you like him. He's cute when he's protective." Motioning them forward, she said, "Please, gentlemen, follow me, and I will gladly explain."

* * *

They passed through an archway that led to spiraling stairs, which they took upward to a cozy room. There was a fire in the hearth with three plush chairs before it. Dark woven rugs on a stone floor, a table with stacks of papers and books, and in one corner near a tall thin window stood an old loom with a tapestry in progress. There was also a small bejeweled chest, open and revealing ornately shaped bottles and vials, making it obvious that witchcraft was present and likely active.

On the wall by the window hung a tall tapestry, with very odd figures woven into the pattern. Castiel felt compelled to walk closer and examine it.

On a black background were four figures in gold, men with animalistic heads, standing with arms stretched high. Each man had red wings draped down his back. The leftmost figure had a head rather like a gorgon, grimacing, its face surrounded by a leonine mane of hair. To the right of that, a figure that seemed more traditionally Egyptian, a falcon head with red eyes and beak. He wasn't positive what the next was, but it could have been a jackal with a spiraling horn. The last figure had a bullish head, pointed ears and curling horns. Oddest of all, there was space for a fifth figure but that was blank.

He was entranced, knew this was somehow significant, but couldn't understand.

"Ah, you like it?" the Lady asked, standing near the fire. "I will explain shortly. Do come and sit down, first." Castiel moved toward the chairs. He didn't sit.

Dean meanwhile had been scanning for clues, entirely uncomfortable. It was easy to see that the room was far bigger inside than the castle could have contained. They were in another dimension, and he was on the edge of freaking out.

"Okay, tell me right now!" Dean barked. "Are we in _fairyland_?"

"So impatient," she sighed. "But in a way, yes, we are. Just a small corner which conveniently connects to this tacky little castle built by a strange little human."

Dean was shaking furiously. "Who the fuck are you, lady? You're a fairy or a witch, that much is clear, and I don't like either one. So start talking!"

"Tsk. Such language. Very well, full introduction. In common, modern human vernacular, I am known as the Loveland Frog." Tyronoe's lips pulled into a frown. "Not my favorite title, but how was I supposed to know a drunken businessman would be able to see my true form?"

"The what?" Castiel squinted at her. The woman didn't resemble a frog at all.

Dean's eyes were bugging out, but he supplied, "It's like a Weekly World News urban legend thing. A humanoid cryptid that's been seen around here for decades. I'd totally forgot about it until now."

"Hmm, shame on you," Tyronoe rumbled. "Sloppy hunting like that. I'm surprised you haven't died more often." Lifting an almost invisible eyebrow, she said, "But come, boys, we're not here to argue. I wish to give you each a gift."

Dean shook his head. "I've only dealt with fairies once, but that was enough to know you guys don't give out free gifts."

"True enough," Tyronoe conceded. "But who said either of _you_ would pay the price? Don't worry your pretty little heads about it."

Castiel was growing dizzy from the exchange. "I think you'll find that the more you tell Dean to not concern himself with something, the more stridently he'll attempt to unravel it," he said to the Lady. She threw back her head and laughed. Dean kicked the side of Castiel's foot.

"What was that for?" Castiel frowned.

"Just... can you at least try not to slam me in front of the monster, Cas?"

"Monster?" All traces of laughter left Tyronoe's countenance, her face once again blank, implacable. "You hero types are all the same. Crush! Kill! Destroy! Anything not completely human. Unless," she added, with a sly glint as her eyes slid to Castiel, "you want to bed them."

Cursing his (what he believed to be new) tendency to flush, Cas forced himself to take a deep breath before responding with, "Lady Tyronoe, I do not believe the relationship Dean and I have with one another is any of your concern."

A long, exaggerated blink, and Tyronoe said, "I never said that it was, crumbcake. Although I bet you'd be surprised just how important your relationship is in some sectors." Dean opened his mouth to no doubt ask for clarification, but Tyronoe waved her hands. "This conversation will grow tedious, I can already tell. I'm going to get right to why I called you here." A shake of her arm, and there was a brief flash of light.

When Castiel could see again, where before there was nothing but air there was now a sword. And not just any sword. The very one Castiel had seen in his dreams, over and over since the hospital. Sometimes whole, sometimes broken, but always with Dean. He stared in wonder at the real item. Script flowed up and down both sides of the blade; the hilt was set with topaz, jacinth, and tiny diamonds, winking in the low firelight.

Tyronoe flipped the sword easily, catching the blade in the palm of her hand. Castiel and Dean both instinctively moved forward, but the blade did not pierce her flesh. "Your concern is touching, boys, but this is _Caledfwlch._ He knows I'm not iron, wood, or steel; he knows me. Caledfwlch will not cut my flesh."

"Caledfwlch," Castiel repeated, a rush of knowledge hitting him the way it sometimes did. "This is… Excalibur."

Eyes widened in fear-confusion-excitement, as Dean asked. "Like, _the_ Excalibur?"

"Yes, yes," Tyronoe said impatiently. "The sword in the stone, the broken sword, the sword given by the Lady of the Lake,"-using her free hand, the fae pointed at herself- "etc. etc., whatever you're thinking, it's that sword. And I'm giving it to you, Dean Winchester."

"Me?" If Castiel thought Dean's eyes were wide before, they were practically popping out of his head now. Fear was leaving to be replaced by a purely childlike glee, his apprehension about accepting a gift from a fae-witch apparently forgotten.

"Yes," Tyronoe said. "Take it. You will need it in the coming months. Just be careful not to-"

Dean had already grasped the hilt and removed it from Tyronoe's grip. He was running his fingers along the edge of the blade, testing it, and hissed as he slipped and sliced the palm of his hand. The sword pulsed with light, blinding them once again.

"-feed it blood," Tyronoe finished lamely. Heaving a great big sigh, she said, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Uh, I'm gonna assume that was bad?" Dean said, his palm still dripping. Castiel heard a throaty noise and realized it had come from himself only after he'd already removed his tie and gripped Dean's hand, and had the wound half-bound.

"Only if you ever wanted to get rid of the thing in your mortal lifetime," Tyronoe said matter-of-factly. "Oh well, it's yours now. Good riddance, I say. I was sick of lugging the thing around."

"I am very confused," Castiel admitted. Dean snorted, but his gaze was still on the sword.

"Every grail quest needs certain roles to be filled, certain characters playing certain parts, for it to succeed – villains, comrades, teachers, heroes." She chuckled as she moved to stand before the enormous tapestry Castiel had been studying. Simpering, Tyronoe said, "Dean is your hero, Castiel. Isn't that sweet?"

"I am not questing for any... grail," Castiel said, ignoring her jab. He doubted the words even as they passed his lips, though. He thought of dreams and visions, of fire and blood, of seeing glowing golden cups and great mysterious birds, of severed heads in dishes and a door that refused to open to his touch…

"A physical cup, no. A grail? Ah, that's something completely different. You search for the truth, don't you, Castiel, Angel of the Lord? Of who you are, how you came to be here, what you were meant for… What greater grail could there be?"

Dean spoke up. "You're trying to tell us we're on an honest-to-God quest for a grail?"

"Not just any grail," Tyronoe teased, nodding at Castiel. "A _holy_ grail."

"Cute," Dean sniped.

Running her fingertips lightly across the tapestry, she said, "This quest has five stages," she tapped the figures woven into the pattern, one by one. "And each one will provide key information. You've already had the first," she indicated the grimacing bearded face. "A ghost from your own past."

 _Roger_. Castiel shivered, recognizing that it could easily be the man who'd known Jimmy.

"The others are less clear, though each figure presents a clue," she shrugged. "Eh, you'll know them when you see them."

"Oh, thank you, very helpful," Dean grunted.

"Hold your tongue, boy," Tyronoe snapped, pale eyes suddenly flashing. "If you weren't so important to so many- including your lover here- I would strike you down for your insolence myself."

"Whoa, geez," Dean muttered, taking a step back as Cas shot him a quick look.

"Dean," he said in warning, a swell of fear churning the bottom of his stomach. _Could this be what his dream had meant?_ That without Castiel present Dean would have angered this witch into slaying him? As ridiculous as it seemed, Cas didn't doubt it—there were times when Dean was so infuriating Castiel had to fight the urge to clobber him, and Tyronoe had no prior affection towards the man, nothing to stay her hand.

Dean thankfully subsided. Cas breathed a sigh of relief, and the Lady's demeanor once more became placid.

Castiel turned to study the other three figures on the tapestry, but there were no ready answers. And what was the blank space at the end… "Why are you telling us this?" he asked.

"I'm telling you, Castiel, because I am a – how do you say – ambassadress for my people. I meet and discuss certain things that may be of their interest, help them if they run into any trouble, that sort of thing."

"What does that have to do with Cas?" Dean frowned.

"Right now? Not much. But I believe in making investments of people, and Castiel is a grand one. I ask nothing from either one of you, just now, in exchange for the sword and the information. All I ask is that you remember what I have done for you this day, should I or any of my people have need of your influence in the future."

"That is too broadly worded," Castiel remarked.

"You might have been able to make me a counter if your paramour hadn't already bloodied the sword. According to the laws of my people, you are honor-bound to fulfill the terms I've set forth."

"We aren't _your_ _people_ , lady."

"You're close enough, Dean. Your little foray into Elwood ensured that."

Dean's face closed off and he bowed his head, and actually apologized. "Um, yeah. Sorry I nuked that tiny flying woman. But she attacked me!"

"Don't apologize to me. I'm not really interested in what you did to Rosemist. She had it coming for a long time, what with her fascination with your people-or your precious little soul. It truly pricks my curiosity how _everyone_ is so enamored of you. So many claims on one tiny little parcel of land does tend to make one wonder." Tyronoe's grey-blue eyes swept Dean from head to toe, appraising in a most uncomfortable way; Castiel barely suppressed the urge to step in front of her, to draw her attention away.

"Okay. _You_ have the sword," she pointed at Dean, "and _you_ now know what you're doing," Tyronoe waved her hand at Castiel. "One last thing before you go… The next step of the quest must be learned from a prophet, who you will meet on the Spring Equinox, between two lakes."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean scowled.

"Beats me, I just give you the fortune cookie. You have to eat it. See you later." She clapped her hands and they were in a parking lot, blinking up at the midday sun. Thankfully it had stopped snowing.

"Should we have killed her?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes. "I feel like we should have tried to kill her."

The words were barely out of Dean's mouth when they were bombarded with a swarm of tiny, winged creatures. Sword still in hand, Dean swung blindly at them as Castiel ducked and swatted ineffectually.

The tiny fae swooped around and between the men, stringing a long white fiber until it was woven into intricate netting. They tugged it together, completely binding Castiel from chest to knee, and tumbled their prey to the ground.

Lying in the snow, wriggling against the bonds, Castiel gasped, "Dean!"

"Here!" Dean shouted back. He was wrapped up as tightly as Cas.

A perfectly proportioned (completely naked) female fae landed on Castiel's chest, surprising him to silence. She gave a high-pitched squeak, stamped her foot and waved her hands. Cas felt a wave of exhaustion flood him, and fought against it. But the fairy stomped and waved again. Dean made a choking noise and his eyes rolled into his head. Castiel tried to speak but his jaw fell open, lax and useless. The fairy squeaked one last time, gesturing wildly, and Cas succumbed to darkness.

 

* * *

When Dean came to, he first noticed he couldn't move; then he noticed the crappy lighting, a single bulb above his head. The third thing he noticed was his dry mouth, so dry it felt as if dust would fly out if he spoke. He tried anyways.

"Cas?" he croaked.

There was a shuffle, a sleepy, inquiring moan. He tried to twist around, felt a bizarre constriction of his entire body and the warm length of metal pressing into his thigh, which made him pause. Dean remembered now – they were trussed up by a damned bondage fairy, without a safe word.

"Cas?" he hissed again.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here." The relief, Dean was sure, was clear in his tone. If Castiel was talking, he was probably okay. "How ya doing?"

"I am bound in a substance suspiciously like spiderweb in a smelly, dank room, I have a blinding headache, and I've just been told we're on a holy quest. Oh, and I was knocked out by a miniature, naked woman," Castiel said shortly. "How do you think I'm doing?"

Well, that was depressingly specific. Dean, attempting to restore some humor, said, "Naked? Really?"

His only answer was a disgusted snort. So much for humor, then.

They lapsed into silence. Dean struggled with the merits of trying to force Castiel to talk to him versus continuing to sit in the increasingly awkward quiet, and he stewed for what must have been near an hour. Finally, as calmly as he could, he said, "Are you ever going to forgive me, Cas?"

There was no doubt in either of their minds what he meant. Castiel was quiet for so long that Dean began to think he wasn't going to answer him.

At last, very softly, Cas said, "You lied to me. For months."

"I did." A denial at this stage would gain him nothing, Dean suspected.

"But...," Cas said this reluctantly, "I believe you felt it was for my own good." Another long pause and Castiel sighed before saying, "Please don't ever do that again."

Hope blossomed, sharp and bright, under Dean's breast bone. "I can't guarantee anything, Cas, but I can tell you I'll try not to lie to you."

"There is no trying," Castiel said. "There is only doing. You either choose to lie to me or you don't."

Dean's heart leapt slightly. Castiel was willing to talk and he was paraphrasing Yoda. He took it as a good sign. "It's not that simple. It's... damn it. I've been lying so long, Cas, it's instinct now. The truth rarely gets me anything good. But to you… I never wanted to lie. And..." He swallowed hard, remembering a teenager's advice. "I'm really sorry, Cas, you have no idea."

There was a long silence again.

"Dean… do you still want me?"

"What?" Dean sputtered. "Where did _that_ come from?"

"You tried to use sex as a cure for my confusion. Then you pulled away as though I disgusted you." Dean was trying to interrupt, but Cas pushed on rapidly. "I am not weak and helpless just because I can't remember everything. I can fight, and I can decide for myself what I need to do."

Dean's jaw flapped for a moment. "Cas, I know I hovered over you, but I was worried and I… I care what happens to you. I know you're strong, hell you can survive anything." He swallowed hard. "And I wasn't backing off because of you, I was mad at myself for exactly what you said – I do wish sex cured everything. I'm really sorry about that." He felt Castiel's deep shuddery sigh. "I still want you, but you basically told me to fuck off at Bobby's. I thought you were done with _me_."

Cas whispered, "I don't know if I could ever be done with you, Dean."

His heart pounding hard, Dean wiggled around, trying desperately to see Cas's face. The sword shifted precariously, but it didn't cut his leg. There was a scraping shuffle and suddenly Cas was flopped on top of him, draping his still-bound body on Dean's like the world's largest inch worm. He lifted his head, and relief coursed through Dean at the sight of bright blue irises.

"Dean, I thought you would stay behind at Bobby's instead of running home. I wanted you to stay, but I… I couldn't make myself say it. In various films and shows, I've seen this done. One partner keeps silent, expecting the other to essentially read their mind and understand the trouble. I'm coming to see that was foolish."

"Cas," Dean said with fond exasperation, "Word of advice. Never take relationship cues from TV. So can we agree here and now… no more games? Something's bothering you, you tell me. I can't know what's going on unless you do, man."

"Agreed, if you do the same."

Cas wriggled until their faces were almost touching. Dean was preparing himself for an awesomely kinky completely-bound-up-with-ropes, sure to lead to blue-balled frustration, hot make-up kiss when Castiel's mouth veered lower, to just where the substance that bound them ended under his chin, and began to tug with his teeth.

"Uh... what're you doing?"

"Getting you loose," Cas paused in his activity long enough to reply.

"And you couldn't have thought of this an hour ago?"

"I was distracted." He grinned and went back to work.

 

* * *

They freed themselves and found a door to the room, and walked outside into the air. Only to find they were nowhere near the castle. The weather was changed: no snow. The temperature was nearly spring-like.

"Oh, fuck," Dean groaned. Looking around, he saw nothing but a small shack behind them where, apparently, the door came out. Unbinding Castiel's tie from his hand, he saw it was perfectly healed now.

"Time loss in fairyland. _Fuck_. We could be a hundred years in the future. Jesus _Christ!_ " He wouldn't panic, he wouldn't…

Castiel tapped his shoulder. "Or we could be just a few days off." He pointed across a field, where the Impala was parked and Sam could be seen galloping toward them on his long giraffe legs.

"Holy shit! Sam!" Dean yelped with glee and dashed toward his brother. Castiel followed more slowly.

"Dean, my God, I've looked everywhere for you guys!" Sam met him and they slammed together in a crushing hug. "That hunt was a complete dead end. Oh, man...you would not believe—"

"—kidnapped by damned fairies. Again! –"

"—kept getting texts, supposedly from you, saying ' _We're staying a little longer'_ —"

"—and this crazy ass frog lady told us—"

"—two weeks then texts stopped and I got coordinates again—"

"—a fucking holy grail quest, man! This is fucking _Excalibur!—"_

"—a plane to Ohio, found the Impala was in long-term parking—"

"—and now we have to find some prophet guy—"

"—and finally found you."

"Where the hell are we, anyway?" Dean asked, catching his breath at last.

"Just south of Kingdom City, Missouri," Sam said. "I got sent all over the damned place. Avalon, Pennsylvania… Knightstown, Indiana... Arthur, Illinois. And now here."

"Holy crap."

"Also, we're at the end of Angel Drive," Sam sighed. "Just thought you'd like to know."

"It appears," Castiel snorted, "the Lady has a rather tasteless sense of humor."

"If she hadn't given me this piece of pure awesome" – Dean waggled the sword – "I'd go back and kick her ass."

"Well, _my_ ass hurts from sitting in the Impala for two weeks. So can we just go home now?" Sam grunted.

"Whattya say, Cas? You ready to go home?" Dean was nervous but hopeful.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, Dean. Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -We took liberties with [Loveland, Ohio](http://bit.ly/dl0s7T), being the location of S5x14, as it was never spelled out in the episode. But somewhere with a big [Valentine’s theme](http://bit.ly/nrc9GY) was fitting.  
> -[The Loveland Castle](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/9795) (or Chateau LaRoche – as in “Sebastian’s last name”) is a chintzy tourist trap with an eccentric and frankly borderline NAMBLA-esque history. Where else would one go for information on a crazy-ass grail quest? (39.2838 -84.2660)  
> -Since we’re working with the Grail legends, we combined a host of things. [Tyronoe](http://bit.ly/oKxRqD) is a mix-up of several things: sister to Morgan le Fay, shape-changer, witch, lady of the lake, and so on. The water element often given to various Arthurian female characters allowed for more ideas. Our concept is this – if you go to hell, you become a demon; if you sell yourself to the fae, you could become some other creature. Therefore – [the Loveland Frog](http://bit.ly/11kpjL).  
> -The prophetic tapestry is taken directly from [this painting of Morgan le Fay](http://bit.ly/puqltO) by Frederick Sandys. We had already plotted the quests long before finding the painting. But two of them fit so precisely with the figures on the tapestry it was almost eerie, so we decided to make it a part of the story and stretch the descriptions to fit the other quests. Tyronoe’s general appearance comes from the painting as well, with certain updates to her wardrobe.  
> -Now that the basic premise of our story is revealed – Castiel’s memory equals a Grail Quest – [here](http://bit.ly/6JiyaN) [are](http://bit.ly/3aOfDz) [several](http://bit.ly/rk9ju) [links](http://bit.ly/HZMd2) that provide general information about the main plot devices we are using. There are too many little things throughout the entire story to detail each one, so read those links and you’ll probably recognize most references.  
> -The four Hallows of the Grail - [sword, spear, dish and cup](http://bit.ly/qoMenD) \- have appeared in several dreams, visions, and artwork by Castiel. They are found in modern tarot decks, of course. Though they’ve been re-marketed to fit into Christian versions of the Grail legends, the hallows historically predate them. But considering the Judeo-Christian mythos used in SPN, we’re doing overlap too. In our case, we also fit them against certain characters, and have been doing so since “Use Your Illusions” – Bobby is earth, the dish; Sam is fire, the spear; Dean is air, the sword; Castiel is water, the cup. Fit well into canon, too.  
> -We got silly with the locations at the end: Kingdom City, Missouri (38.9528, -91.9391); Avalon, Pennsylvania (40.5009, -80.0676); Knightstown, Indiana (39.7956, -85.5264); Arthur, Illinois (39.7148, -88.4723). The Lady was just being ironic and capricious by then.


	7. PART II - CHAPTER 7: Distant Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the second quest happens, and everything goes a bit meta.

** Late March **

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean grunted at the email Sam was showing him. "Becky? Super-fan Becky? Becky who wants you and me to make babies, Becky?"

" _Eww_ , Dean," Sam sneered in disgust. "But yes, _that_ Becky."

"Told you not use your real name on Facebook, with a real photo of yourself."

"I never expected anyone like her to find it. Though, in retrospect, I should've…"

"At least you only have to deal with really annoying emails and, heh," he grinned lecherously, " _pokes_."

"Um."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "…What?"

"She somehow found Bobby's public phone number and bugged him until he got sick of it and gave her mine. I have about eighty voice and text messages from her, mostly screaming about how happy she is that I'm not in Hell anymore and how much she wishes we could reconnect and 'rekindle the sparks'…" Sam looked sheepish and angry at once.

Dean grinned hugely. It wasn't _his_ problem, after all. "Well, can't blame Bobby for wanting her off his back. Be strong, Sammy, she could be your soulmate. After me, of course. But you can't marry me outside of her weird little stories-not even in Canada."

Sam's eyes flashed, promising bodily harm. "How about I tell her I've changed my number and give her yours instead?"

Taking a step back, Dean held out his hands as if to physically ward against Sam's threat. "All right, no need to get bitchy. Just ignore her, maybe she'll go away."

"Somehow, it just doesn't seem possible." As his phone chirped a cheery beep, Sam gave a martyred sigh. Checking the screen, he rolled his eyes and opened the latest message she'd sent him. " _Now_ she's invited me, well us, to… Shit. It's another _Supernatural_ convention."

"What?" Dean barked, leaning over to get a closer look. "No way in hell. I'm gonna kill Chuck if he's still writing about us."

"He's not, I've checked," Sam said stiffly. "He stopped the books when I went to Hell."

"Oh, great place to end things," sighed Dean. "So, if there are no new books, why would they still be having conventions?"

"These things don't stop just because a book or show or whatever ends. Star Trek conventions have been going on for decades now, and there are huge conventions every year for comic books, movies, video games, you name it."

"You are such a nerd," Dean laughed at Sam's scowl. "But still… another convention about us? I don't like it."

With a snort, Sam replied, "You think I do?" Scrolling through the information on the screen, he said, "Looks like this one is being run by Becky herself, and is aimed more toward…oh _God_ , no...'fellow fanfic writers'."

Castiel came into the living room to see both brothers with pained expressions and Sam very nearly pounding his forehead on the table. With great concern, he asked, "What's wrong?"

They straightened up fast and looked guiltily at each other as Sam tried to hide his computer screen. "Uh, nothing, Cas. It's just someone we used to know has invited us someplace we really don't want to go."

"Where?"

"Um, good question, actually," Sam frowned, checking the page again. He looked up at Dean with great significance. "Detroit."

Dean's eyes were steely as he said, flatly, "Yeah. Not happening."

Castiel seemed to ignore this pronouncement. "When?"

"Cas, it doesn't matter—"

"When?" Cas repeated firmly.

Sam checked again. "It's for two days. March nineteenth and twentieth."

"Spring equinox." Castiel looked pointedly at Dean. "The Lady said we would meet a prophet on that date, and that it would be between two lakes. Detroit lies between Lake Erie and Lake St. Clair."

Sam's eyes widened with realization. "Hey, maybe Chuck is the prophet?"

"You _know_ a _prophet_?" Cas asked with a stern voice. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"Kind of tried to forget him," Dean grumbled. "It's a really long story…"

"Then you can tell me on the way to Detroit." Cas crossed his arms and said firmly, "The equinox is in three days. We should be preparing to leave. Now."

Boggling at him, Dean was amazed at how take-charge Castiel was getting. It was goddamned _annoying_. Cas, standing there with hooded eyes, lips slightly pursed, wearing that navy blue sweater that hugged his chest… faded black jeans hanging a little low on the hips… in bare feet… Oh hell, it was a goddamned _turn_ - _on_. Dean's own jeans were getting uncomfortably snug. Something was seriously wrong with him. (At least he could now take care of that problem, since Cas and he were sharing a bed once more.)

"Shit," Dean grunted. "I can't believe this. We're gonna have to go back there."

"Well you can go without me," Sam shook his head. His jaw was tight enough to crack diamonds and his eyes actually flashed a little golden. "The devil might be locked in Hell but I'm not setting foot in that city again as long as I live."

Castiel's eyes unfocused as he was assaulted by images… _Sam with blood dripping from his lips, storming down a dark alley, an aura of flames coiling backward from his shoulders like wings... Dean's face desolate and furious at once, turned toward Castiel with hate-filled words… a bleak cemetery, angels, flames, blood… nothingness…_

Dean saw his expression and asked, "Another memory?"

"Yes… Sam… I know you've told me that long ago, you were an angel, and for a brief while, in an odd way, you were once more. I believe I angered that other angel fiercely…" He shuddered then looked up at his fellow fallen angel. After learning he had a former brother on earth, and some of the stories concerning the behaviors of other angels, accompanied by the occasional vision like this one… he was beginning to be glad he'd no direct contact from heaven.

Castiel sighed. "Why are so many of my memories unpleasant? I'd like to have at least one that leaves me feeling untainted."

"Sorry, man. Our lives suck," Dean said apologetically, squeezing Cas's shoulder. "Let's go pack up."

 

* * *

Dean really, really, _really_ wanted to take Excalibur with him. Going on a quest (even if it was just to see Chuck) with the great sword of King Arthur in his hand – how could he _not_ be giddy? It was almost (not quite, but close) as awesome as going back to the Old West (Dean conveniently forgot how “not awesome” and “much germier” that had actually been).

But the sword was stubborn – yes, it actually had a sort of sentience. Anytime Dean tried to lift it from the trunk of the Impala, it steadfastly refused to budge. What the fuck use was a sword if he couldn’t wield it?

The frog lady didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, because clearly the sword and Dean weren’t MFEO. And he was not-so-secretly disappointed by that.

Pouting, he tossed his bags on top of the damned thing as they readied for Detroit.

 

* * *

****

Castiel may have expected to hear all about Chuck on the trip, but Dean wasn't very forthcoming. He learned only that…

_…some drunk dude had visions about us, wrote it all down and sold it, and didn't even make enough money to live on with it. Probably because he kept spending it on more booze...he said it helped him sleep so the visions wouldn't be as strong, so fair enough I guess. Anyway, he wrote all this stuff about us and, ah, we found out somehow that he was a prophet of the Lord and the books were supposed to be used as religious texts in the distant future or some stupid crap like that-but not if I can help it! And meanwhile this chick who was dating him or something I guess, she writes more stories about us based on her own fantasies that are completely totally untrue and kinda creep me out so if you meet her and she says anything about me and Sam being 'more than brothers' just ignore her, and I really don't wanna talk about this anymore…_

After Dean cranked up BTO to nearly deafening levels, he said no more. Castiel had a distinct feeling that it was going to be even more convoluted when he learned all the details.

He dozed on the long drive, and had one very short and worrisome dream: _He was burned to the core by a bolt of lightning, frozen nearly to death in a cage of ice, and finally flung into a body filled with pain and blood… and the voice of his tormenter insisted that Dean was to blame._

When he woke, he felt disoriented and miserable.

 

* * *

****

They pulled into Detroit on the evening of the nineteenth. It was clear as they neared the location of Becky's gathering that something else was taking place in town. There were banners along several streets featuring a slightly devilish red figure with a pointed hat and the words _Marche du Nain Rouge_.

"It's a parade, apparently dedicated to a red dwarf," Castiel supplied, proving his language skills once more.

"Detroit is just weird," Dean snorted. "What street are we on right now?"

Castiel squinted at the GPS. "Uh… Cass Avenue."

"What?" Dean's head twitched toward him. "Did you say 'Cas'?"

"With two S's. But...yes."

"Well that's just weird," Dean said lamely. Still, it felt rather omen-y. Detroit was not a nice place to begin with, and he had craptastic memories associated with the city now. Dean wanted to get this damned 'quest' over with, fast.

 

* * *

****

When they reached the Majestic Center, Dean grew more uneasy. There were a number of women on the sidewalk, more milling around tables in front of a café, and many were in costume. Not just regular costumes, oh no, that would have been odd enough—these chicks were all dressed as people he knew. He instantly recognized one girl costumed as Anna, another who looked a bit too much like the adult Lilith in a white dress, and one very tall girl who (for reasons that would forever escape Dean) was trying to look like his little brother and – except for the lack of the enormous forehead, and a rack that seemed like it was trying to compensate for that – wasn't doing a bad job. He pulled out his phone and took a photo of 'Samantha' to send to the original back home. Might as well show Sam the fun he was missing. Better yet, he might send it to Gail. Later.

Dean indulged in a vision of girl-Sam and Gail for a split second before he weirded himself out. One: Sam was his brother, and imagining a chick even dressed as him in girl-on-girl action with who Dean was pretty sure was going to be a sister-in-law pretty much guaranteed him a place in a special hell. And two: he had enough of those special hell tokens, thanks to checking out his mom when he'd briefly gone to the past.

 _Plus I'm_ kinda _gay now_ , he reminded himself as he reached out and snagged Cas's hand. Dean was thankful for once that Castiel could no longer read his thoughts. Cas gave him a small, warm smile, and all thoughts of 'Samantha', Gail, and young Mary Winchester fled Dean's mind.

They went inside and up to the second floor where the event was taking place. They didn't have tickets, but Becky had put their names at the door as special guests (Steve Walsh and Robby Steinhardt) and they were let in without trouble. The scene inside the ballroom was just as unsettling as the outside had been.

Close to a hundred people were crammed inside the small conference room, mostly female from what Dean could tell through the sea of costumes. And fucking hell – the _costumes_. It was freaking eerie how accurately portrayed such people as Ellen and Jo were, his own mother (both young and older), Pamela, and Tessa. There was even female Ash, Gabriel, and for crying out loud, _Bobby._ He considered the guy family, but what sort of chick would want to dress up as him, for Christ's sake?

There were a fair number wearing dark suits and fluffy angel wings, and others with black contact lenses for demon eyes (which seriously worried Dean, he was gonna have to work the whole room with holy water and salt, damn it). Worst of all, he saw no less than _four_ girl 'Castiels'. He tried not to groan in dismay, and prayed Cas didn't recognize 'himself'.

There were eight tables filled with people talking. A few had open laptops as they compared stories and even artwork (Dean could see, even at a distance, some very disturbing poses and way too much naked flesh, and he did not have the slightest interest in knowing details). There was a small stage on one wall with a crookedly hand-painted banner above it proudly proclaiming there would be karaoke later that night, and a bar on the wall opposite, and _that_ was a combo Dean didn't want to stick around to witness. He thought that if he had to watch a drunken female version of himself serenading his 'brother' he might never recover. Hopefully they'd spot Chuck soon so they could get the hell out before getting cornered by—

" _OH EM GEE!"_ Becky shrieked, galloping toward them. Several heads turned to see what the commotion was about. When they saw it was Becky who'd squealed most (luckily) simply nodded in a knowing manner and turned back to their conversations. A few kept their eyes laser-focused on him and Cas, though, which did nothing for Dean's nerves.

"You came, Dean, you really came!" She looked like she was close to launching herself at his neck, which whoa—she hadn't been this thrilled to see him when she'd met him the first time, so where was the affection coming from?-and Dean wasn't ashamed to admit he thought about cowering behind Cas for protection. She stopped just short of assaulting him, though, and merely bounced from foot to foot in front of him, clearly ecstatic.

"Where's Sam? Is he still downstairs? There's a Ruby 2.0 down there and I hope she doesn't try to accost him! I've told the girls not to bother any guys that come in because… well I couldn't tell them it was because it would be the _real_ Sam and Dean, of course, but I said not to just because it's rude and you guys are my guests and all."

Dean's head was swimming by the time she'd paused for breath. "Sam's not with me," he said quickly, "Detroit is a no-go for him. I think you know why."

"Oh!" Becky clapped her hand over her mouth in horror. "How terrible of me! I didn't even consider he wouldn't… Oh, tell him I am – so – sorry! I've been so insensitive."

Before she could break into tears at her imagined slight, Dean said, "I did bring Cas, though." He pulled Castiel forward, who'd been attempting to hide from Becky's exuberant energy by trying to blend into the wall. Blue eyes glared daggers at Dean as he foiled this plan.

"Cas?" she gasped, her jaw dropping nearly to her chest. "This is Castiel? The _real_ Cas?" At Dean's nod, she gave little panting breaths of joy and fanned herself with her hands. "Oh my God, oh my _God_ , there's a real live _angel_ in the room! I am just – I can't – this is the Best. Thing. _Ever!_ "

She practically cooed as she reached forward, running her hands over Castiel's arms. "The books said you were pretty but you are just so much more gorgeous in real life than what canon describes. Those eyes are just – heavenly isn't even a good enough word. I thought you wore a tan coat, too, though this black one really, _really_ suits you…" Becky gave her best imitation of a seductive look, pursing her lips.

Castiel's expression was somewhere between embarrassed and panicked. This time Dean spoke before Cas could open his mouth and correct Becky on his non-angelic status. "Hey, Becky, ah, where's Chuck? We'd really like to talk to him." He flashed the patented Dean Winchester grin just for extra measure, hoping if nothing else than to liquefy her into a fangirl puddle long enough for them to slip away.

He might as well have saved the grin. At Chuck's name Becky's whole being drooped. It was like someone had turned off a faucet of glitter; she went still and silent and stopped sparkling. "He Who Must Not Be Named isn't here. He is dead to me."

Dean flinched in surprise at her attitude. "Oookay… so the break up wasn't as amicable as he made it sound. Sorry about that."

Becky sniffed in disdain. "He was a loser and the entire fandom is better off without him. Though of course we wouldn't have the fandom if not for him, there are so many fic writers whose prose outshines his stilted attempts at literature. Yet without him they wouldn't have a world to build from..." She pouted, genuinely conflicted. Then she took on an even more serious expression and said, "Actually, he sort of disappeared. No one knows where he went. I have a theory," she whispered, managing to sound almost excited even though her face was still somber, "that something came after him. Like he wrote about a monster, gave away its secrets, and it got mad and ate him."

There was a moment of heavy silence while Dean stared at her, then he blinked and a number of things passed across his face before he settled on 'exasperated'. "It's possible. Though I think maybe the archangel protecting him would've been a little annoyed if something had tried."

"Archangels are fierce… They're absolute…" Castiel began intoning mechanically.

Becky joined, and they finished together, " _They're Heaven's most terrifying weapon._ " She squealed a little, shaking Cas from his trance. "I love that you can quote the book! Quick! Say the perdition line, I _love_ that one!"

Castiel opened and closed his mouth a few times, and Dean quickly steered the conversation back to its path. "So, no one knows where Chuck is?"

The mention of her ex-boyfriend was successful in distracting Becky from trying to get Cas to quote Supernatural passages like a trained monkey. Well, if monkeys could speak English and... aw, hell, she was distracted, and telling him more about Chuck, and that's what Dean cared about.

"No, it's very mysterious. You know, I really do miss him. We had something special for a while there," Becky said sadly. "I thought we could've been the Hot Couple in fandom. I thought he really loved me, you know? He called me his priestess. A guy wouldn't call you that if he didn't love you, would he?" Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, causing Dean to twitch uncomfortably.

"He broke it off because the world was ending, or so he said. But then it _didn't_ , and he didn't tell me it wasn't going to—I was in my parent's basement eating canned food and skimping on toilet paper for a week, the bastard!- and by the time I came out he'd vanished, and… Oh. Never mind," she said after catching a look at the expressions on Dean and Cas's faces. "I just try not to dwell on him, especially not now that I've got half the fandom following me."

She perked up amazing quickly, looking like an over-eager puppy. "Since I'm webmistress for the best known Supernatural site in the world-" (somehow she managed not to sound smug, just excited) "-I though I should use my influence to run conventions myself. This gathering is mostly fic writers. Mostly _slash_ fic," she giggled shyly, her eyes darting back and forth between them. "In fact, since Castiel appeared in 'Lazarus Rising', where he gripped you tight and raised you from perdition – God, I _love_ that line! – you two have been a _major_ ship."

Dean understood maybe one word in three, and Castiel was afloat in a sea of confusion. But there was no stopping Becky.

"I mean, wow, the chemistry between you two was obvious form the start," she gave a breathy sigh and put her hand to her bosom. "All the eye-sex."

"The _what_?" Dean coughed in shock.

"And the way Cas kept sacrificing himself for you, Dean. Oh Castiel," she said, grabbing the former angel's forearm once more, "every time you exploded, it nearly killed me too."

"Okay, that's enough—" Dean looked askance at Castiel, who seemed gobsmacked.

"Yet, just when we all thought you and Dean would be together, Sam made Dean promise to go to Lisa after he jumped into the pit." Focusing back on Dean, Becky wibbled, "It was so noble of you, Dean, to follow your brother's final wishes" She sniffled, biting her lips to keep in a sob. "And I truly hoped you would be happy with her even though… But since Sam isn't in Hell anymore, and Cas isn't in Heaven, are you and Lisa-?"

Dean responded reluctantly, knowing it was unavoidable. "No, we're not together."

"I knew it!" Becky's eyes popped and her smile re-emerged, bright enough to blind them. "You and Cas, right?"

Dean barreled over her question. "Okay! Well, if Chuck's not around, we're off. Got a case anyway so, nice as this reunion has been – well, not really-"

" _Oh_! You can't leave yet! There's karaoke and a costume contest later tonight, and then tomorrow afternoon we're all going to the parade and—"

"No thanks!" Dean shouted, dragging Castiel with him. Becky was making sputtering noises behind them, but a she-Crowley and blonde Meg crossed between them, making it easy for the couple to disappear into the crowd and escape.

 

* * *

****

When they were back in the Impala, Dean banged his forehead on the steering wheel. "God, man, if I'd known she'd be _that_ bad… of _course_ I knew she'd be that bad. No, she's gotten worse."

"Dean, I'm... very confused."

Castiel's voice was very small and quiet, and it worried Dean. "Hey, didn't I tell you to ignore her? She's kind of nuts."

"But you said the books that inspired her were written by a prophet. Knowing that, some of what she said must be accurate."

"Maybe a few things, yeah, but—"

"Did I explode?" Castiel turned wary blue eyes at Dean.

He sighed heavily. "Yes, you did. And before you ask, no, we still don't know a hundred percent what brought you back. You thought it was God, and I guess it couldn't be anything else."

Castiel was silent then, nodding to himself. He didn't remember it happening but it still felt very strange, deep down, to know that this body had been destroyed. _Twice_ , if he'd heard correctly. He touched his face, imagining the skin and bones and organs beneath, all splattered. Had Dean seen him that way, as chunks of meat and shard of bone? Now knowing how the man felt, what would seeing him that way _twice_ have done to Dean?

Sensing Castiel's morbid train of thought, Dean said, "Ya know, I think we could both use some sleep. We'll figure out this prophet thing tomorrow." He pulled away from the curb and turned back down the road they'd come. "If you can handle not sleeping in a motel tonight, I'm pretty sure there's an empty house 'bout two blocks back by Cass Avenue – which is still completely weird – so let's check in and catch a few winks."

 

* * *

****

The house was fairly nice (probably only empty for about a month if the grass in the yard was an indicator) so it was reasonably clean and there were no windows broken out (and there were other occupied houses very close by, so Dean was extra cautious to avoid being seen gaining entry). They planned to sleep for a few hours and be back up and out by dawn.

Castiel's dreams were predictably fitful and seemed more disjointed than usual.

_His head was separated from his neck, lying on a platter of silver. Blood poured not from the raw, jagged wound at the stump but from his mouth. Sigils danced around him, sparking like fire, keeping him trapped, unable to rejoin to his body. The golden king was bleeding too, no longer sitting on the throne but kneeling on the cold floor in front of his head. Their blood ran together and caught fire. A brief flare of blistering heat and he leapt forward, whole again, angel blade in hand, slashing into bodies that appeared before him in explosions of searing white light._

_He called out to the king and his voice was the cry of a hawk, piercing and high, shattering moving mountains. The king fell before him before rising tall enough that they stood toe to toe, their eyes blazing emerald and sapphire. The air between them was molten, tasting like earth and rain, electricity and sweat._

_A figure in red and black strolled towards them through the shadows, leering and fondling a glowing white marble. The air smelled of blood and smoke, and a pain ran through Cas's soul. The figure was brushed aside by the woman of darkness-the loathed one-who slunk close and pressed against his body. He longed to sink his blade into her, deep and hard, thrusting again and again, to feel her gush forth onto his hands, to lap it up, to paint himself with her blood as he went into battle…_

_He stood inside fire, confessing to the king his sins. The broken sword lay in the king's lap, the pieces glowing red hot, the king's tears making it sizzle and hiss, the sigils still visible, jumping and dancing._

_Dean, his hand filled with earth, the rings on his fingers blackened and void of magic now, his face a mask of blood. Castiel crawled through the slime and bones to touch him, heal him, but he couldn't reach inside to the broken parts. Dean turned away, embraced a dark haired woman in white. The king placed a wreath of lilies-of-the-valley upon her brow and threw the blackened rings away. Castiel's heart went stone cold and it rose to the top of his head, pulling him upward into the clouds._

_The red and black figure watched from the shadows, watched the king, licked its lips…_

Castiel groaned as he woke, his back and mind stiff with poor sleep. He'd had fewer nightmares and visions the last month, but when he did have them, they were more powerful. Sometimes he wondered if he would go mad. He'd read that prophets often did. While he knew he was no prophet – merely struggling to remember possibly a million years worth of events and feelings – it still left him wondering how much longer the human brain inside his fragile human head could endure it.

When Dean saw how exhausted Castiel was after waking, he decided they should stay in for the day, get a little more rest, and start hunting for answers after dark.

"Just hang out here while I grab breakfast?" he'd suggested, to which Castiel agreed.

Dean went out long enough to snag coffee and food from a little café two doors down on the other side of the road. The fact that the place was called "Avalon" gave Dean the slightest creep up the back of his neck, but it didn't stop him from getting some fantastic sandwiches. When he left, he looked upward at the brick building next to the café… and nearly dropped the bag of food.

High above on the side of the four-story building was a hand-painted sign in white script. It wasn't entirely clear due to the swirling letters and fading, but he did make out the words "service" and "knight", and something that looked enough like "overlord" to make the hair on his arms prickle.

Fuck it. _Thanks for all the omens, Frog Lady, if you're the one behind this stupid quest. We're not fucking stupid, we get that we're in the right place._

He trudged across the street and stealthily re-entered the house.

They ate (though Cas only picked at his food) before trying to go back to sleep. While he rested, Dean went through some pamphlets he'd grabbed at the café. Apparently the parade thing was a big yearly to-do, based on an old local legend about a murderous dwarf. He'd like to think it was just the human scum element in a big city to blame for any violence, but he knew far too well that legends were almost always based in fact. Maybe there was a real dwarf hanging around, or at least had been at some point. But now there was a parade to 'drive the dwarf away and keep the city safe for another year', by burning it in effigy in the middle of a park (Cass Park, of course).

Yeah, right, like a little pseudo-pagan ceremony would clean up Detroit, Dean thought cynically.

The event looked interesting anyway. Costumes, dancing, floats parading down the street, and bands playing in the park at the end. Practically a Michigan Mardi Gras.

He grinned lecherously. Someday he would drag Cas down to New Orleans, he told himself. It'd been nearly a decade since Dean'd gotten to the Big Easy, and fond but blurry memories of booze and beads and boobs made him nostalgic. But then again… he frowned, realizing that Castiel wasn't exactly the sort to party like that. Nor did Dean like the idea of him being so uninhibited publicly. Dancing around with a silly hat on, shirt open and face flushed from too much liquor, wide grin and sparkling eyes, beads swinging across his bare chest…

Fucking hell. He glanced down at his crotch and then over at Cas, who was definitely not up for fooling around.

"Uh, hey, Cas, I'm gonna check and see if the toilet in this place still works. If not, I may have to go across the street."

"Fine," Castiel muttered with a groan, burying his face into his duffle bag.

The bathroom wasn't functional, but it was private enough to jack off.

When he came back, Cas was in worse shape, groaning softly and holding his head. Dean knelt down, shaking Cas's shoulder to ask, "Man, you all right?"

"I have a rather bad headache," Castiel told him. "I believe I would like some aspirin, if we have any."

Since Cas hadn't been ill once since he'd come out of the hospital, Dean was honestly worried. He grabbed his own duffle and dug down into the little medical kit they always carried. Bandages, scissors, antiseptic, needles… no aspirin. They were far too accustomed to letting booze be their anesthetic and Dean was too paranoid of having pills of any sort within easy reach of a human Castiel, even if he acted nothing like the future vision of Cas he'd once met.

"Damn it. Cas, are you sure you really need it?"

Castiel nodded.

"Okay, hang on, I know I saw a drug store not far away. You stay put, okay?"

Castiel only nodded again before huddling a little tighter to his duffel, burrowing his face into his coat.

Once in the Impala, Dean cursed himself for not bothering to learn the GPS functions better. Finding the pharmacy would take longer than he hoped.

 

* * *

****

Castiel lay in the semi-darkness of the room, feeling his pulse pound in his head. Dean wasn't going to arrive soon enough with medicine, but he knew there were people nearby who must have something for the pain. He was shaky, but he managed to exit the house without being noticed and wandered across the street to the walkway where people were milling about.

Excited voices and laughter, and many costumes and masks – Castiel wasn't entirely sure he was imagining this or not, but he didn't think so. He reached the buildings, found a small café next to a bread shop, begged an aspirin from a waitress and was given that along with a cup of ice water. Outside were several tables with people sitting, having coffees and talking eagerly about the celebration just down the street. He took a chair that had just been vacated and sipped his water, not really listening to their words, just concentrating on making the headache stop.

"Oh my God, Cas? Is that you?" He recognized the voice, and opened his eyes to see a pink sequined mask that looked rather like a butterfly.

"It's me, Becky!" She lifted the half-mask to prove it – as if, with that cheerful voice, it would ever be in doubt. "Hey, I'm glad I found you before you guys left town. We're joining the _Marche du Nain Rogue_ for the last day of the convention, and would love you if you came along. Where's Dean?"

"He's… on an errand." Castiel squinted at her, taking in the costume she wore. It was what most people considered a fairy – in other words, a poofy short pink skirt, clingy body suit, butterfly style wings attached to her shoulders, and completely covered in glitter. She was so filled with excess energy that he wouldn't have been shocked if the wings became real and she flew off.

"Is it the case he was talking about?" She suddenly gasped. "Oh my God, is the red dwarf _real_? That would be incredibly cool. We all came here for a Supernatural convention and wind up with _another_ real supernatural event taking place!" Her wings vibrated as she made a tiny series of leaps and skips.

Castiel was mesmerized by the wings and didn't answer her at all. But she didn't care. She called out to a group of her friends and soon he was surrounded by girls. Becky introduced him as "a Castiel cos-player, but don't give him a hard time about his clothes 'cuz he's not really in costume right now".

The words flowed over and around and through him, and he simply didn't fight it. Their voices ebbed and swirled around him so quickly he wasn't able to distinguish one from the other if he tried.

_He is adorable! Wasn't he with that other guy last night? The really hunky one with the buzz cut?_

_Yeah, that was, ah, a Dean player._

_Oh em gee, they came **together**? Like together-together? It's like real life Destiel!_

_Hey, it'll never be as deep and true as Wincest, they're soulmates!_

_Now girls, what have I said about wanking and ship wars? Not in my presence, and not during the convention. Keep it to your blogs, ladies._

_Yes, webmistress..._

_-wrote a Dean/Cas ficlet at last! Remember the future story "The End" where past!Dean and future!Dean were in the room with Risa and future!Cas? So I left Risa out and the three guys were—can we say this in front of a man?_

_-come on, he's part of the fandom and he's with another guy, so… yeah!_

_Okay, anyway, all those orgies Cas held were—_

_\- and when Castiel fell – when Dean taught him to drive the Impala –_

_Sam and Dean and Castiel all together, yummy –_

_\- helped Castiel 'see God' through sex – I'm telling you, Cas's handprint is magical –_

_-so cute in those AU college fics – Castiel the librarian – Dean the detective -_

_– the Horsemen were so creepy – Pestilence was gross – refuse to believe Gabriel is dead, I just won't –_

_-girl!Dean got pregnant by Cas and it's forbidden – sex pollen! – slave!fic – Alastair/Dean is so sick but sometimes-_

_– how Castiel helped Dean escape from Zachariah to stop Sam – I still say Cas was jealous of Anna when she kissed Dean –_

_-oh my God, Ellen and Jo dying while Cas was stuck –_

_-sooo much UST when he slammed Dean against that wall – he's so commanding, clearly a top – no, he'd do anything Dean says, he's a bottom –_

_\- wings! eggs! –_

_-wish he could've healed Bobby's legs instead of Crowley, I just know they can't trust –_

Castiel's head was spinning from the unstoppable voices. They were painting so many images within his mind. Some he felt certain were real, others were too bizarre, but still more were… he just couldn't be sure. His headache had ceased despite the confusion, but he could feel the beginnings of fear stirring as the women's conversation grew more outlandish.

_\- plagiarized like sixteen other AU stories, remember? – claimed it wasn't 'stealing' that way, but – seriously, it was the Supernatural "My Immortal" – come on, princess_ventura isn't THAT bad –_

_-soulless, okay, but robo!Sam was just – angel buying souls – civil war in Heaven – burning demon bones – like Mary's family would be such assholes – purgatory –_

_-Dean as a vampire was kind of hot though – Cas and Meg was hot too – alphas? dragons? fairies? all in the same – I kind of liked the fairies –_

_-the fuck was with the mannequins? lame! – Mother of All was lame too, it could've been so – Titanic – Death's ring –_

_-award for craziest AU **ever** – a TV show would be awesome, though – phoenix ashes –_

_-no way would Castiel work against the Winchesters – freeing the Mother of All – but killing Raphael at least that – Cas would never take all those souls and – she's planning a sequel – just wanted to kill Cas off, I think, that's the only reason she'd write -_

"C'mon, let's get you away from these harpies, eh?" came a new female voice, and Castiel allowed himself to be tugged off by his sleeve. He followed the girl to the corner of the sidewalk near the street. "Looked like you were getting a little overwhelmed."

"Yes, I believe so, thank you," Cas murmured. He looked cursorily at his rescuer. She was short, plump, blonde, and wearing a nun costume – or it would've have been a nun if it had more fabric. Cas wasn't sure if he ought to consider it blasphemous or amusing.

"So what do you think about all those stories? Pretty crazy shit. Kinky, too."

"I… wasn't paying much attention…"

The girl drew closer, licked her lips and whispered, "You really oughta read some of it online. Bet you'd learn all sorts of new tricks. You could try 'em out on Dean, see if he likes it as rough as he did down in the pit. There're folks who'd pay big money to dirty up his shiny soul again."

Castiel's nerves twitched, but he was unable to focus on her words. "I'm not sure what you—"

"But don't worry your pretty head, angel. Just keep those wards nice and snug at home, so you and Dean-o can keep on doing it missionary style. Oh wait, you're still working the hand jobs and lip service. Tsk." Waggling her eyebrows, the fake nun said, "Live a little. At least buy yourselves a toy so you can figure out what those prostates are really for."

Castiel's eyes were drooping, as though he was fighting off yet another fairy attack. "You shouldn't… say things like—"

"Ah, have I overstepped the bounds of good taste?" she chuckled. "Poor thing. Loads of magic in the air today, it must be screwing up your radar. I could sooo take advantage of you in your fragile condition. You wouldn't believe how tempting that is, but that would defeat my purposes… for the moment," the blonde purred in his ear as she patted him on the ass. "Better get back to your boyfriend before he has a heart attack. And hurry up with getting your head sorted out, I'm on a schedule." With a final grope to his butt, she vanished.

 

* * *

****

The 'nun' reappeared around the building near an alley. Smirking, she tilted her head back and cried out as black smoke poured from her mouth. When it was done, the girl's body fell to its knees, gasping.

Disoriented for a moment, the now merely human girl rose and shook herself. Then bent over again and threw up. "Seven Appletinis- definitely six too many," she muttered.

Remembering nothing of her possession, she went back around the corner of the building to rejoin her friends.

 

* * *

****

Castiel wobbled briefly, catching himself against the brick wall of the shops. His head was very suddenly cleared. He wasn't sure if he'd imagined the girl or not, but he didn't think so.

Dean was amongst the other girls now. The golden glow around him was fraught with red jagged pulses – clearly angry and terrified, and Cas realized how stupid he'd been to walk away from the house when he'd promised not to. He approached the group just as the girls turned, all at once, pointing to him as a single unit.

Dean's thunderous face was something Cas hoped never to see again. The man stormed forward, growling, and stopped within inches of Cas's nose. "Goddamn it, Cas! I didn't fucking know where you were." His voice couldn't hide a small hitch when he repeated, "Don't you ever do that to me again, not ever."

Castiel felt the panic and sorrow radiating from deeper within Dean's aura, and he knew then what he'd really done. When he'd disappeared last year, the other man had nearly fallen apart. And now he'd gone missing again, even if only briefly. _Oh, Dean…_

Lifting a hand to Dean's tense face, gazing intently into the man's eyes, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm not going away. I wish I'd never had to before."

Dean deflated a little bit. He took a deep breath, exhaled hard. "You bastard. I ought to punch your goddamned lights out. You still need aspirin?" He held up the bottle he'd been clenching so tightly there were imprints of the lid on his palm.

"Perhaps one more, just in case."

As he got a second glass of water for another pill, Castiel looked above Dean's head and finally noticed the white letters on the side of the building, the name of the café. And now the water glass on the table was glowing golden, as were a dozen other glasses held by the girls around them.

"There really is a quest here, Dean. Even if the prophet you once knew isn't the one we must meet."

Dean followed his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I saw the signs earlier. Feels like we're being dicked around, though."

"Maybe. But the signs are real, and my memories are real too. Although hearing the variety of stories these girls tell… I'm not sure what to believe anymore."

Dean sighed, sitting down and taking Cas's hand (yes, in public, but he didn't give a shit even with the delighted giggles all around). In a low voice, he said, "It's one more reason we didn't just tell you stuff. We might've gotten things wrong, or told you things we didn't see but guessed as to how they went down. You need facts, not speculation."

"I see that now," Castiel muttered. "Dean, I may need help anyway, sorting this out…"

"We'll do our best when we get home, okay?"

Castiel didn't answer, his attention suddenly stolen by a strange movement. "Dean!" he shouted, leaping up and running toward the street.

"Cas! What the hell?" Dean bellowed, sprinting after him.

Then he saw it. A short figure in dark red scampered up the road, following a group of costumed revelers. It was hideous – a face that resembled a baboon, thick matted hair, and horns. Its red clothes were leather, old and soiled, probably with blood. Rotting tusks snarled with murderous glee as the creature shambled toward the crowd. Apparently the _nain rouge_ was real.

"Oh crap," Dean muttered, and they gave chase together.

Of course the street was filled with people all following the parade down to the park. The creature ran into the crowd, dodging between their legs without contact. And of course, no one else could see it.

But Dean could, thanks to his abduction by fairies last year. It seemed Cas could as well, if his shouts and redirections were any indication. At least their trip to see the Lady (and the following bondage session with buck-naked Tinkerbell and friends) had given them one good thing.

 

* * *

****

Five blocks later, Dean and Cas were both wheezing with exhaustion. The crowd had thickened considerably, and it was difficult to keep the _nain rouge_ in sight. So far, no one had been harmed (unless you counted 'harmful' as watching someone who claimed to be sane wear a cardboard box painted as a Rubik's cube on their head or an entire suit made of carpet remnants).

Dean remembered the route of the parade from the pamphlet, and groaned in dismay. They had another four blocks before they'd reach the park. Hopefully the damned dwarf would trip or something before then. Meanwhile, he and Cas had no chance but to slow their pace, weaving in and out of the increasingly raucous parade-goers. They'd caught up to a couple of floats and a marching band. Noisy laughing children were interspersed among the adults, causing Dean to hope fervently that the dwarf wouldn't try to kill in public, in the daylight. He didn't count on it, though; you could never trust a monster.

When they finally reached the park ringed with trees, they saw a bandstand, complete with an announcer in a tacky red-and-white striped sport jacket and straw hat. They listened as he directed for a man in a red costume and hideous mask that resembled the actual dwarf quite closely to be hauled onto the stage. The 'dwarf' roared his displeasure and the officiant called out to the masses, _Light the bonfire!,_ as firewood was set ablaze in a large metal drum. A pole was raised, dangling a doll – an effigy of the dwarf.

"What the hell?" Dean leaned against a tree to catch his breath. "That's not—"

Castiel said roughly, "No, it was real, not just a man in a mask. We'd know—wait, look!"

Standing near the fire, struggling as though it was truly held on the end of the stick, was the _nain rouge_. It wailed and snarled as the doll was plunged into the flames, howled as its body went up like magician's flash paper and vanished. The crowd cheered and music struck up. The candy-striped announcer declared the dwarf was banished until his inevitable reappearance at the winter solstice, causing the crowd to cheer again before they moved almost _en_ _masse_ to the food stands, where there was already dancing, drinking and revelry. The party was just starting.

"That's it?" Dean grunted in disbelief. "The damned thing gets ganked by… _this_?"

"I… guess so." Castiel looked as frustrated as Dean felt. It was far too much exercise right after a raging headache (for Cas) and a near heart-attack caused by worry (for Dean), all for nothing. "If it wasn't a dwarf, what could it have been?"

Dean snapped his fingers. "Hey, it could be a tulpa. Fits the profile. Hundreds of people doing this for ages, the same old story over and over." He looked smug, having figured it out without Sam's help, thank you. Luckily Cas was still studying his monster lore so Dean didn't need to try to explain how exactly tulpas formed, because he wasn't quite sure and really didn't want Cas to know that. Dean knew it had something to do with will and intent, knew how to kill it (which was the important thing in his book) but beyond that-

"I thought tulpas required the use of a specific Tibetan symbol to manifest."

"Um, yeah," Dean slumped. So much for not looking stupid in front of his boyfriend, and damn, _that_ designation was gonna take some getting used to. "Well, maybe there's a Tibetan temple in town?"

"Or it could be a coincidental configuration painted into graffiti," Cas said, and nodded toward a garbage bin in the park. Sure enough, a colorful decoration was painted across the metal, and amongst the gang signs and scribbles was something that could indeed pass for the sigil in question.

"Huh," Dean huffed. "That's gotta be all over the city. Nice work, disenfranchised youth of Detroit. All right, I declare tulpa, case closed." He clapped his hands, rubbing them together happily. "Well, since we're here, let's get take a break and get a beer."

But Castiel froze, seeing a flicker in the air. There was a transparent child… a woman… an elderly man… there were ghosts. _Many_ ghosts.

"Dean," he whispered hoarsely, "there's something here. Something real. I see spirits."

"Where, I don't see—"

"There," Castiel pointed across the park near a line of trees. "They are so many, they're trapped somehow—"

"Holy shit," Dean gasped, "it's that fairy dude from Indiana! The one that tried to frigging strangle me in a jail cell." He pointed at what was basically a man, rough and violent looking, wearing dark clothes with a red cap on his scraggly hair.

"It's a redcap," Castiel declared, uncertain how he knew, but not questioning it. "We have to get his cap, Dean, it's-"

"The source of his power, right?" Dean snarled, pushing his way past a group of rowdy teens. He ignored their squealing protests with the practiced air of someone used to shoving others around when he needed to. If Dean had realized how much it made him seem like a cop he probably would have been dismayed. "I am getting sick of that. Fairies are fucking lame."

"It's the blood, it's all tied to the blood," Castiel said as he broke into a run with Dean close behind.

The redcap had stolen into the more densely wooded area at the corner of the park. They watched as he licked his lips, slinking around a girl who'd moved away from the noise to use her cell phone. The creature was actually going to risk killing in broad daylight.

Castiel pulled his angel blade from the inner recesses of his coat, surprising Dean – how the hell did he hide that thing? – and ran full tilt at the creature, stabbing straight through its back. It screamed and twitched, trying to get free, only managing to turn its head back to snarl curses at Castiel. The blade wasn't killing it, but it was definitely being immobilized. _Good enough_ , Dean thought, as it gave him time to pull out his own weapon, a silver knife (hey, even if he'd been sure the dwarf thing hadn't been real, that was no excuse for being unprepared). He slashed the red cap's throat and saw it go down, taking a grim satisfaction in the creature's gurgling before it finally went limp. Castiel snatched the cap from its head before it hit the ground, which was lucky because as soon as the body touched the earth it vanished in a pulse of light.

Cas collapsed as well, panting for breath and half delirious from the last several hours. Dean crouched, pulling Cas up into an embrace, holding tightly as if his life depended on it. "I got you," Dean murmured against his neck, "you're okay." He stroked Cas's back until their breathing fell into sync. When Cas was calmer, Dean pulled back enough to look into his eyes, which were so desperate.

"The souls, Dean," Cas whispered. "I have to—"

But he didn't get to finish, as the girl with the cell phone nearly bumped into them. "Oh! Sorry," she giggled, eyes flashing between Cas sprawled across Dean's lap and the way Dean held him and clearly coming to her own conclusions before moving around them to rejoin the crowd.

"That was close," Dean breathed in relief. He looked back at Cas's pale face, saw how those blue eyes were focusing on things in the air that Dean couldn't see. "What is it, Cas?"

"Souls," Cas repeated softly, allowing himself to be pulled upright, though he still kept himself in the cradle of Dean's arms. "They're trapped in the cap. Hundreds of them. They're in the blood the fairy used to dye it red. I remember the lore." He lowered his eyes, thinking. "If the cap ever dried out the creature would die, so he had to keep it fresh."

"Gross," Dean flinched away from the cap Cas held. He saw now how sticky it looked, and that there was a smear of red on Cas's hands. "We gotta get rid of that thing."

"We must release them first," Cas pronounced firmly. "They must be washed away into the river. The prophet will be between the lakes, Dean…" With that, Cas stepped blindly toward the street.

"Whoa, whoa!" Dean shouted, snagging the back of his coat. "You don't just jump into traffic, man, and the rivers's like ten blocks away. We're both half dead from the run we just made. Let's go back for the Impala or find a cab or something—"

"Dean! Cas!"

Like magic, there was Becky, pulling up to the curb in a little car with two other girls, followed by a minivan full of yet more girls. "You guys wanna come back to the Majestic with us? The con's nearly over, but we've got a few more things to—"

"Becky, can you give us a ride to the river?" Castiel asked solemnly.

She blinked at him, open-mouthed at his interruption of her invitation. Then she saw how steely his eyes were, how determined his stance, so heroic and pure and _angelic_... and yeah, okay, if it made Dean a sap to think of Cas in that way then call him a sap, but Becky wasn't unaffected, either. A shiver ran through her as she nodded. Dean and Cas climbed into the car, squeezing in with the girls.

 

* * *

****

The ride to the waterfront was short but tense and exceedingly weird, Dean thought. He didn't know what the fuck was happening with Cas and was afraid to ask in front of everyone. Except for Becky, none of them knew their real identities and he preferred to keep it that way. Two girls were staring at him and Cas with dewy eyes, almost swooning, no doubt imagining all the hot, naked, Kama Sutra style sex they'd been having and planning to write about it in blisteringly graphic detail the instant they had access to a keyboard. If he didn't know better he'd think the one in the ladybug costume was already tapping out the beginnings of one such story as she broke her gaze to focus on her phone's tiny keypad.

And now he was thinking of Castiel spread out and sweating on a bed, groaning, his legs curled around Dean's waist, pulling him forward, inward, urging him to press closer to heat and tightness and WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WITH HIM?

 _Always_ with the unbelievably inappropriate timing. He swore silently as he sneakily pressed his hand against his groin and cursed at his dick to leave him the hell alone for ten minutes. If he didn't get Cas alone in a proper bed, soon, they'd wind up fucking somewhere really improper. Like in a goddamned church, right on the altar, in front of a group of little old ladies with heart conditions.

Becky found parking across the street from the river, right where the _Detroit Princess_ ship was moored. As soon as the car stopped, Castiel was out and striding across the road, (luckily avoiding traffic) heading for the metal barrier. He was clearly intending to crawl over and probably jump right into the damned river.

Dean didn't know if Cas could even swim.

"Hey! Damn it, Cas, wait!" he shouted, rushing after him.

Cas had gotten over the barrier and was at the water's edge, bending down. The girls began to shriek in fear. Then Cas touched the cap to the water-

-And the ghosts sprang into view with a tangible gust of wind. It was sour and old, the rot of an abattoir, and Dean nearly gagged. The girls were still screeching but it held a different quality now. Terrified, disbelieving, disgusted, yes, but also with a tinge of awe. In Becky's case, more than a tinge of awe and edging right into ecstatic.

The spirits squirmed in a wormlike mass, writhing in pain and begging for release. They clearly had come from many eras, their dress anywhere from Colonial days clear through to present day. Each one bound to the cap, the source of their deaths and their grave in one. Castiel washed the cap carefully, easing the blood from the stained and ancient cap, and gradually the ghosts were fading. One by one, they drifted away, swirling into the darkness of the water, relief in their voices until only one was left.

The ghost had been a small man with a thick beard. He was dressed in old clothes, perhaps Elizabethan era but poorly matched and ragged. His eyes were wild and his mouth was moving incessantly, speaking as though he couldn't stop. Dean came slowly closer to the water and to Castiel, who was kneeling before the spirit, listening avidly. When Dean could finally hear the ghost's voice, he only knew that it wasn't English and that it was the same few sentences, over and over. The ghost was stuck in a repeating loop.

The girls behind them had grown so quiet Dean felt compelled to glance over his shoulder. They were gathered together, all ten of them in stupid costumes, hugging and crying, watching the scene before them with an almost reverent air. Becky stood directly in front of the group, looking calm and intent, jaw firm, her eyes never wavering from the ghost. She had the bearing of a true leader, Dean thought with surprise (although the pink fairy wings were really making it hard to take seriously).

Oh, great, a bunch of girls in shock, and yet more people to explain to that this shit was real.

Maybe he'd leave that to Becky.

Castiel was finished. He bowed his head and the ghost finally looked down at him. It smiled and reached out as if to pat Castiel's hair, but faded completely before he could connect. Cas released the cap and allowed it to sink into the water before he stood and returned to Dean's side. His eyes were damp, and Dean stroked his shoulder in sympathy.

"That was the prophet we were looking for, Dean" Castiel said softly. "He had a message for us. For all of us."

Dean realized then that he was addressing the girls as well. What the hell?

Becky was nodding, hands clasped and eager for his words. The other girls were rapt, waiting breathlessly.

"Becky Rosen, who was chosen by the prophet Chuck as his priestess…" (She squeaked.) "You have power already to sway the hearts and minds of the followers of the gospels. Use this power with care. People must believe the true gospels, not merely the fantasies they weave." (She frowned, no doubt sorry she'd have to give up slashing them, but nodded.)

"And be aware that some truths lie beyond the published works of the prophet. There are stories already written by people that you collectively shun but which are based on truth. You will be able to discern these truths now. Do your best to spread those truths and be kind to those that tell them." (Becky looked puzzled, then her eyes widened and her lips pinched together, clearly catching his meaning and not liking it, but she nodded her agreement readily enough.)

Castiel turned his gaze to the ten girls gathered behind their new bedazzled and sparkly leader. Their faces were in various states of bewilderment and genuinely thrilled. He said to them, "You are among the first to receive the truth. Be humble with it." They sighed, and one even clutched at her chest. Dean thought he could detect more than a few sets of eyes with the suspicious sheen of tears glimmering at the corners.

The former angel turned back to Becky. "There are two others who learned of the truth after you but before these women. Two young men who aided Dean and Sam once in destroying the ghosts of murderous children. They belong to your group as well. You know them?" She nodded fiercely. "After you leave here, find them and speak to them of what you witnessed today. They will be of great service to you in the coming times."

Finally Castiel turned to Dean, and smiled. "As for what we have to do, I will tell you on the way home. For now… I am so very tired."

As they helped Cas back to Becky's car, Dean turned to her and smirked at her costume. Heck, if this was already a night of revelations for the chick... "FYI. Fairies? Bigger dicks with wings than angels. Trust me."

 

* * *

****

Dean wanted to scream in frustration. They'd just left a group of girls who now knew they existed, and who were being led by Priestess Becky the Super Fangirl. Although her demeanor had changed significantly by the time they were packing to leave, and Castiel assured him that she would take her position seriously...it was just... Becky, a _priestess_?

Oh wait, Chuck had actually called her that, she said. Crap… Guess the Winchester Gospels really were fated to happen. _Please let be after I've been dead for a couple hundred years, and they're being led by Becky's descendants._

Castiel related the prophet's words but they didn't make much sense. It was supposedly about their next 'quest', but it didn't make much sense to Dean.

"Go west, where fire and earth and ice dwelled together. There we will meet a monster who may be friend and a man who may be foe. Death will come to those who'd dealt death to Dean" -(say that five times fast, he thought)- "The heart will see beyond what the mind believed, and see that light can live in dark places."

He fucking _hated_ riddles. At least Chuck had just written like a hack novelist; that was straightforward.

On the way home, they had to stop for the night. Castiel's headache had returned, so Dean got a motel and they lay together chastely, Dean occasionally running a hand down Cas's back in comfort. The guy hadn't slept well for days, and even curling up with Dean didn't seem to lessen his dreaming. Dean was often awake, watching him, wondering if Cas would ever remember enough of his past to be truly himself again.

 

* * *

****

**April**  


The next couple weeks, Castiel wrote and scribbled in his notebooks, furiously trying to decipher truth from garbage. The fangirls had overwhelmed his mind when he was vulnerable, spewing out so much that his brain had absorbed like a sponge. Cas was honestly horrified by some of the ideas he'd heard.

Some he knew was a lie (impregnating Dean? laying eggs? drugged orgies? None of those sounded right), but other things smacked of truth and disturbed him even more. To think that he could've failed to heal Bobby, or failed to save two women that he couldn't recall… or that he had joined forces with an enemy and betrayed Dean and Sam? It was unthinkable, yet… He honestly didn't want to ask about these things, didn't want confirmation of his sneaking suspicion that they were true, but would eventually have to.

One of the worst things he'd heard –that a demon had tortured Dean in Hell – was one thing he unfortunately knew was truth. He'd seen it in his dreams: _Dean, bloody, broken, screaming with a throat that was barely still a throat at all... Tied, chained, pinned with hooks to a rack... Savaged in every possible way, with unthinkable brutality... Never allowed to lose awareness of the acts…_

These visions made Cas silently weep for Dean. He didn't know how to approach the man about it, didn't wish to stir up those memories. But there was a connecting vision – Dean on earth, torturing the torturer, at Castiel's request – that shamed and horrified him even more than the visions of Hell, if possible. What sort of angel had he been, to ask such a thing?

He couldn't contain it all. In the end, he went to Sam.

Uneasily, Sam told him what he knew for sure. That another angel, Uriel, who was now dead, had kidnapped Dean to force his participation; that Castiel regretted it but had no authority to halt it; that the trap holding Alastair, the demon, had broken and Alastair very nearly killed both Dean and Cas before Sam arrived. And that Dean learned a horrible truth – he'd been sent to Hell to break a seal holding Lucifer, yes, _that_ Lucifer, in a cage, and thus had begun the Apocalypse. Even hearing they were instrumental in that particular disaster didn't lessen the devastating knowledge that the three of them, each with their own parts to play, had started it.

Castiel knew, without being told, how hard it had been to keep Dean's trust after the incident. He also knew that the first time he'd openly rebelled against his superiors was when he'd gone to Dean's aid. It also marked the first time he had felt the sting of betrayal by his own family. The pain of that alone was buried deep in his heart.

The worst though… Dean had come face to face with his own violator. _Because his supposed guardian angel asked him to._ Castiel knew that he'd never properly apologized for that.

He waited a few more days before broaching the subject with Dean. It would be hard for both of them, and part of him dreaded it. Still, Cas had something he needed to say to Dean, something he wanted to tell him.

Castiel found Dean in the kitchen, washing oil from his hands (he'd just been giving his baby a tune-up, he said) and stood beside him, looking at him with sympathy, regret, and love.

Dean frowned. "Okay, what? What'd you do?" the man tried to joke. "I only see that look on your face when you wanna talk about something."

Castiel put his fingers on Dean's jaw, tilted his chin down just enough to bring their lips to the same level. Leaning forward, he placed the lightest, gentlest kiss on his mouth, held for a moment then pulled back. Never losing eye contact, he whispered, "I would fly through Hell again, if I could… to save you the pain you endured at his hands."

Dean froze, trembling. Though there was no doubt he knew exactly what and who Castiel meant, he still swallowed hard and said, "What are you saying—"

"I know that we – that I – asked you to use the horrible knowledge you were forced to learn in... that place... to break him when he came to earth." Castiel's eyes pricked with tears as he saw the scene in his mind, Dean stabbing the man who screamed in a perverse sort of joy. "I don't know that I deserve forgiveness for that, but I'm selfish enough to ask for it anyways."

For a moment, Dean couldn't move or breathe. Eventually he put a still slightly greasy hand on top of Castiel's, where it still rested on his face. Though his eyes were sad, he managed the tiniest smile. "You did what you were told to do. Until you did what you knew was right. There's nothing to forgive, man."

Castiel gave a small smile in return and kissed Dean again. "Thank you," he whispered against the man's lips. "Thank you."

 

* * *

****

Dean found sleep hard to achieve that night, small wonder. Once thoughts of hell were allowed to come forward, pushing them back down took some effort, even after several years. He might've been upset with Cas for mentioning it at all, but it was unfortunately a memory, and the guy needed every one he could recover. That meant the shittiest ones as well, Dean wanting to talk about them or not.

God damn it, though.

He sat up watching extremely late night TV in the living room, turned very low so he didn't disturb Sam in the next room. He'd tuned into the safest most family-oriented crap he could find ( _Little House on the_ freaking _Prairie,_ for crying out loud), in hopes he could drown out the thoughts.

He was succeeding, too ( _thank you, Ingalls family_ , for being so boringly wholesome it could numb his brain) and was beginning to drift off when there came a low howl from outdoors.

The hair on his neck stood up. Okay, it was probably nothing more than a neighborhood dog. They had dogs in the neighborhood, after all, and dogs howled at night. It didn't mean anything…

The howl came again, unearthly, accompanied by growling, so grinding and deep it could only have come from the pit.

His skin was suddenly prickling with sweat, his breath coming harsh and shaky. No, it just was imagination. He'd been dwelling too much, that was it…

But the sound continued, sounding of more than one hound, their far-too-heavy paws thudding on the street, crunching through gravel at the edge of the driveway, audible snuffling with noses that could smell your blood for miles. Dean could practically feel their claws, claws that could tear your spine out through your chest, teeth that dripped with something so foul and poisonous it burned your very soul raw…

Hyperventilating, he sprang up, scrabbling in the trunk in front of the couch for salt, holy water, anything and everything useful. With panic making his hands shake, he managed to secure the windows and door (though they were already salted, as they were every single day and night) then skidded through Sam's room without pause, terror sending him to Castiel first. But when he reached the bedroom door… the noises stopped.

Stumbling back into the kitchen on unsteady feet, Dean collapsed warily into a kitchen chair and nearly wept with relief.

In the morning, he was going to comb the entire house again, he decided, freshening every seal and sigil. Gail still had no idea that he and Sam had marked every available inch of her house – under the floors in the grimy crawlspace below the house, above the ceilings in the hot and dusty area that wasn't quite an attic, each cornerstone outside, every window and door, even at the edges of her property, in the trees behind her house. She would probably kill them if she knew, but better death by her hands than by anything from hell that could make them die over and over for eternity, and frankly, Dean didn't care. He lived here, too, and he was going to make sure his home was as safe as it could be.

 

* * *

****

_The dark figure laughed and tugged harder at his soul, ripping bits of energy loose and feeding it into flames. It didn't seem to burn yet the shreds of himself were still in pain. The whiteness of it was threading through the flames. The figure was forcing it to strengthen the flames like a tapestry, creating images of hell. Dean was in that picture, face frozen in agony. His soul was being used to paint artwork of hell…_

Castiel woke with a whine of fear. Of all the nightmares he'd had, he was certain this was the most horrible yet.

Pushing his face into his pillow, he cried without sound. He didn't even move when Dean came and lay behind him, pulling him close and breathing shakily against his neck.

"Cas… Cas," Dean murmured, burying his face into Castiel's shoulder, and Cas wondered if Dean had fallen asleep on the sofa after all, because he was acting like he'd just woken from a nightmare of his own. ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The [nain rogue](http://bit.ly/ro1Ruf) has plagued Detroit since the first Euro settlers arrived in Detroit. [The Marche du Nain Rogue](http://bit.ly/fUUcWM) is exactly what it says in the story, just as wacky. Check out the photo gallery on the site, with the strange costumes and occasional gayness.  
> \- [Some articles](http://aol.it/oas56u) [and photos]() [of the](http://bit.ly/eIRNiG) [Marche.](http://bit.ly/noZtRT)  
> -We started with the premise of the [Red Knight](http://bit.ly/nob0Lu) in Arthurian legend – which was pretty dull stuff – and tried to find something in American folklore that was basically red and/or fairy related. When the nain rogue showed up, and in such a significant city, and set in Cass Park… well, it was fate. It was easy to blend the S6x09 redcap into the mix.  
> -[The Majestic Center](http://bit.ly/bfcius) (coordinates: 42.3514, -83.0604) which would be a fantastic locale for a small convention. For the story, they are in the second floor Magic Stick room.  
> -The Majestic is only a block over from Cass Ave. and one of the key areas for the start of the Marche du Nain Rogue. Check out Avalon International Breads (coordinates: 42.3505, -83.0641) from street level and the building to the left with the painted sign on the wall (coordinates: 42.3504, -83.0643). In that case, we didn’t bother with every word, just the important ones. The empty house Dean and Cas stay in is directly across the street (42.3501, -83.0644) – check it out at street level (I’m pretending the fence isn’t there for the story). When they are sitting outside the Avalon and Goodwell’s Natural Food, and see the nain rogue, they run to the right and around the corner onto Cass Ave., and eventually to Cass Park (42.3405, -83.0605).  
> -No actual names will be named in regard to the fic writer who created the world of Supernatural post-Swan Song.  
> -Castiel touches the river at this point (coordinates: 42.3258 -83.0460) beyond the railing beside the Detroit Princess cruise ship.  
> -The missing two “disciples” to follow Becky are of course Barnes and Demian.


	8. PART II - CHAPTER 8: Not Man Big

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a spy is exposed, relationships deepen, and the next quest takes a nasty turn.

** Late April **  


Dean slept late, much later than he'd counted on when planning to check the wards around the property the night before. But with his and Cas's combined nightmares, he'd been awake until nearly dawn. Once asleep, he'd slept like a rock.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Dean shouted into the phone as he rubbed his eyes. He was barely awake even now, approaching noon.

"Dean, you were obviously exhausted," Castiel sighed. "I left a note on the kitchen table that I assume you got?"

"Yeah," Dean grumbled, glaring at the piece of paper – _Taking bus to store for groceries and sundries, back in a couple hours, call if you need me ~C._ It had still sent Dean into a brief panic. He found it hard to believe he'd slept right through Castiel's gentle disentanglement from bed and then murmured words about leaving the house. "If you'd tried harder to wake me, I could have driven you."

"Perhaps you should teach me how to drive, instead," Cas very nearly snapped, breaking Dean's train of thought. Unbidden, the image of Ben holding his sawed-off shotgun flashed through his mind, the almost eager way he'd held it up, practicing lining up a shot before Dean, in his over-protective, overbearing glory, had barked at him.

"Okay," he heard himself say. "We'll start tomorrow." To fill the sudden, and likely stunned silence (that stung a bit; Cas had probably expected a different reaction), Dean continued hastily, "But we're using Sam's car. I'm not risking my baby with a new driver."

"Really?" He could almost feel Castiel's smile, like his warm lips were pressing into the small hollow between his ear and jaw instead of the cell phone. "That would be wonderful, Dean. Thank you."

Dean felt a little guilty, again, for leaving Castiel in a position where he was dependent upon others. "Yeah, well, just watch out for perverts on the bus, okay?"

Castiel snorted. "I think I am more than capable of handling not-your roaming hands." The distinctive sound of hydraulic brakes coming to a halt echoed through the earpiece as Cas said, "My bus has just reached the store. I'll call you on my way back."

With a grin, Dean said goodbye. He might not be comfortable with Castiel going out on his own, even now, but he couldn't hold onto him like a leech either. Cas was a grown man, powerful and capable, and Dean didn't need to fear him being attacked by something he couldn't handle.

It wasn't like he'd heard hellhounds lurking around last night or anything…

That thought caused a small bubble of panic to rise in his stomach. Barely resisting the urge to hop in the Impala and track Cas down, the hunter shifted instead into preparation mode. He quickly downed lukewarm coffee and toast with loads of jam (sugar-free still, and he had to admit he couldn't tell a difference anymore). He tucked his gun in the back of his jeans, knife in his boot, salt can in his jacket pocket, hex bags and permanent marker in the breast pocket; should be enough for now to refresh any wards. Then it was straight outside to check the entire perimeter for suspicious activity.

The front yard was good, as were the cornerstones of the house. Rounding the outside corner of his and Cas's room, though—god damn it-revealed that Gail was already outdoors in the backyard, working on her little five-by-ten vegetable garden.

 _Shit_. Dean had forgotten in his distress that it was the first day of a weeklong vacation for her. Normally, Gail would be gone during the day (and often times into the evening) either doing paperwork, in surgery or following up with patients.

Right now, though, Gail was doing what she liked to do whenever she had time; digging in her garden, covered in dirt and sweat. Dean had to admit the garden hippie thing was a good look for Gail – especially in those jean shorts. She had nice legs for a gal in her middle-thirties and he grinned to think that Sam was missing the view (Dean would just have to appreciate it for him).

Sam wasn't home, having left even earlier than Cas, doing who-knew-what since it wasn't a workday for him. It was odd, how easily Dean now handled Sam being gone without knowing exactly where nowadays, and how he'd transferred his former protectiveness of Sam over to Cas. Damn it, he'd have to work on that. Life would be so much easier if he could just be an asshole as always – _my way is the only way_ – but Cas wasn't putting up with that crap anymore. And it wasn't healthy for either of them.

Dean sauntered as casually as possible into the yard, eyeballing the cornerstone at the rear of the house – still good – and tried to make as if he was strolling around for no particular reason. Gail looked up and smiled, sitting back on her heels. "Afternoon, Dean! Don't suppose you'd like to join me?" When he just grinned and shook his head in return, she teased, "You're sure? I'm planting kale, summer squash, broccoli, chickpeas and artichokes this year." She waved her hand at the tray of seedling plants.

Dean internally shuddered. Castiel and Sam would eat every one of those vegetables with relish (possibly literally), and he would be coerced into at least trying them. He knew that he was genuinely more healthy than he'd been in ages, but still…

"Yeah, sounds divine, doc, really, but I'd rather not be a part of bringing those things into the world." He said _those things_ with the sort of tone reserved for monsters on a hunt.

Chortling, Gail turned back to her piles of dirt. "Go on, then. I'll commune with nature all by myself." She hummed as she dug in with her spade, clearly happy to do it alone.

Dean ambled away, scanning the fencing around her yard. No visible marks anymore; the winter weather had erased it all. He expected that, but with Gail present he'd have to wait for nightfall to redo them. When Dean reached the edge of the trees at the back, he paused. Would Gail think it too strange for him to slip into the little grove, enough to question it? The doctor seemed to be paying him little mind, completely absorbed in transplanting her seedlings, so Dean went ahead and stepped between the branches.

It wasn't a really thick patch of trees, but the past owner had let them grow wild over the years so what had probably been no more than six or so decent sized trees had spawned more than a dozen ragged saplings. It was less groomed than most of the yards around them, and in a neighborhood like this keeping up with the proverbial Joneses afforded just as much protection as wards and hex symbols. Dean figured he could offer to clear out the undergrowth and do some pruning later on, and see what Gail thought.

Pushing aside another branch, he took a step further into the tree-line and stopped dead, his heart in his throat. There, just out of sight of the house and thickly covering the ground, was a pocket of bluebells. A slight breeze went through the air and Dean swayed right along with the flowers.

How could bluebells be there, in a stand of random trees, in the backyard of the place he just happened to be living in? Bluebells weren't indigenous to the area, not even to the _country_ , and though Gail had planted various flowers around the house, this spot was uncultured. There wasn't a chance in all of heaven, hell or earth it could be coincidence. _What the fuck were they doing here?_

He began to pant harshly and realized he was genuinely on the verge of a panic attack. With a whine, he crumpled to his knees and grabbed handfuls of the flowers, ripping them from the ground. Clumps of dirt tore free with the roots, and Dean flung them all about wildly. Rationally, some corner of his mind knew that the Utah bluebells had been a result of Castiel's actions, that the flowers themselves hadn't taken the angel away from him, but seeing the physical manifestation of the symbol of his loss pushed Dean—already strung tight from hearing those damn dogs howl last night—beyond the edge.

He must've been making wounded noises, because Gail had come near the trees and was calling to him in a worried voice. "Dean? Are you okay in there? What's wrong?"

Dean froze, his hands filled with crushed and shredded greenery, chest heaving. Dropping the flowers, he rose and fumbled through the trees toward the house, skirting around so that he came out further away from Gail.

"Dean, please, what happened?" Gail called out, alarm clear in her voice as she moved in his direction, but he kept walking swiftly toward the house.

"Nothing! Please, I just—" Dean paused long enough to shoot her a glance over his shoulder. Her eyes were wide, round, and Dean knew he must look a sight, but he literally could not talk to her, not in that moment. "Really. I'm fine," he choked out, stumbling to the back door on his side of the duplex.

Once inside, he collapsed against the wall. His mind raced madly, unsure what to do _. Call Castiel_. Dean stomped through Sam's room to the living room, grabbed up his cell phone, punched Cas's number and waited and waited. Cas finally picked up.

"Cas, where are you?" he asked a little more brusquely than he'd meant to.

"The market, Dean. And I'm nearly done," Cas said with some exasperation. "I'm approaching the check-out now. Did you need me to pick something up?"

"No, no, that's all right," Dean breathed heavily, glad that Cas was safe and returning. "I'll just… I'll see you in a little while." Cas made a noise that was a mixture of befuddlement, agreement and amusement, and hung up.

Dean sat looking at his phone. Cas was fine, it was all good. _Just need to chill out. Go back to the kitchen, get a beer, calm down._

Then he looked around the kitchen and all the things scattered about: the fancy coffee-maker Cas and Sam shared, the horrible paintings of fruit on the walls that Cas had chosen, the bowl in the sink that still had a few kernels of Cas's favorite rice cereal clinging to the sides, the mismatched dishes and cups. Dean let out a sob.

 _This_ was the apple pie life Sam had demanded he seek out. No, it wasn't with a girlfriend or wife and kid, a dog and a minivan, barbecues and ball games. It was a slightly amnesiac former angel of the Lord, his brother, a doctor that his brother surely was falling for, the Impala in the driveway of an old duplex built like someone had lost the blueprints and forgot about the doors—and more, _it was his_. Dean might have to include barbecues eventually, because those were nice, but the point was, this life suited him more than what he'd tried with Lisa. He still got to go on a few hunts because that was the family business. He had a partner who, while not remembering everything, knew Dean in a way that felt practically effortless. It was fucking wonderful.

If the universe thought it could threaten that, take it away again… well, frankly Dean didn't know what the hell he would do, but he wasn't going to let _this_ family go without a fight. When Cas returned it'd seemed like a sort of cosmic thumbs-up sign, a "hey, good job, kid" thing, a reward for all the shit they'd all been through.

He'd given enough. It was his turn to keep something, wasn't it? He should've known better.

Slumping, Dean went into the bedroom he shared with that former angel and shut the door quietly behind him.

 

* * *

Tamping down dirt around the final seedling, Gail tried not to worry about Dean and failed miserably. He'd looked so... haunted, when he'd rushed into the house earlier. There'd been dark shadows under his eyes that weren't there five minutes earlier and he'd been absolutely covered in leaves, dirt, and flower petals. Knowing the older Winchester's temperament, she'd held back from following and asking questions, forcing herself to wait until Sam returned with the cedar mulch for her flower beds in front.

When Sam finished unloading the bags, she'd told him about Dean's behavior and Sam had simply shrugged. _You know Dean. Maybe he and Cas had a fight or something. Give him a few hours. Once Cas gets home and they work it out I'm sure he'll be fine._ But she'd seen the way Sam's hands twitched, and the way he seemed to hold himself back from rushing off to check on Dean himself.

Gail knew from working with her patients that memory loss was extremely frustrating for both patients and their loved ones, and she was concerned that maybe Dean and Cas weren't handling it as well as they liked to pretend. She was just determining to pull Cas aside and have a serious talk, when something caught her eye.

"Eeep!"

Gail scrabbled back in the dirt, falling flat on her butt. Normally she'd be ashamed that she—a tough as nails neurosurgeon with a heart of gold, as Dean liked to joke—had made such a sound, but right then she didn't care. Nestled among the tall grass at the tree-line was a red-shirted blue-pants-wearing garden gnome statue.

"Damn thing!" Gail cursed, struggling to her feet. The beady eyes stared back blankly as she stepped closer. "Who the hell put that there?" Not that she'd ever admit it (especially not to Sam, who was even now bounding around the house from the front yard, his features pinched in concern) but she'd always thought garden gnomes were creepy and the people who willingly put them in their yards were weirdos.

"Gail, you okay?"

Sam was at her side, a hand on the small of her back in support. Suppressing the pleasing full-body shiver that wanted to shake her frame at the touch, Gail said, "I'm fine, Sam. Just startled."

"By what? You see a snake or something? I can run back and get the shovel."

"No, no," she reassured him. "It's just that gnome statue there, that's all." She gestured to the small bearded figure with a laugh. "Wasn't expecting him. One of the neighbor kids must've snuck in and put it there."

"Gail..." Sam said slowly, "what gnome statue?"

She stepped away from the warm comfort of Sam's broad hand and smacked his bicep lightly. "Don't be that way, Sam. That one, right there. Staring at us with his big, freaky, painted on gnome eyeballs, and his big, red, pointy gnome hat."

Moving in front of her, Sam none-too-gently pushed Gail in the direction of the house. She stumbled, shocked that the mild man she knew would put his hands on her in any sort of aggressive manner. Instantly angry, she sputtered, "Sam, what the hell-"

"Go back to the house, Gail," Sam said, and it may have been the light moving through the tree leaves overhead, but the doctor could have sworn that Sam's normally pleasant blue-green eyes flashed a bitter gold.

"Sam, what on ea-"

"Gail, I said _go back to the house_." The words were bitten out, a clear order. He was scanning the brush and tall grass, his face more serious than she'd seen it since Castiel was in the hospital. There was a tense readiness that sat comfortably on his face; more comfortably, she realized, than ease ever did, as if he was more accustomed to whatever-it-was that he was doing than any sort of fun. Glancing back over his shoulder and seeing she was still there, he snapped out in exasperation, " _Now_ , Gail."

Their mutual distraction proved to be Sam's downfall—literally. One moment the big man was towering over her, the next he was crying out in surprised pain as there was a sickening crunch and he toppled to the ground.

"Fuck!" Sam snarled, his knee twisted at an awkward angle.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Which, yeah, stupid question—the guy was writhing around in pain, how did she _think_ he was doing? Gail hated that phrase in books or movies, but it was the first thing that crawled out of her throat when Sam hit the ground.

"Gail, for fuck's sake, please just go!"

There was no way she was listening to Sam Winchester when he spoke to her like that. And besides, he was injured and she had an oath to uphold. "You're hurt, Sam, I can't just leave you out here!" It was when she was reaching for his arm that she saw it. The gnome statue—or what she had believed to be a statue right up until that very moment—was holding its rounded stomach with both hands as it laughed in glee.

"Please tell me you see that," Gail said shakily as she helped Sam struggle to his feet.

"I don't see anything," Sam said in obvious frustration. "But I can _hear_ it just fine. And if I can hear it, I can _kill_ it."

"Och, so the big man be thinking to squash the likes of me, is he?" the gnome said, and Gail yelped again. It was bad enough when they were inanimate painted clay things, but seeing one walk and talk – and threaten – made Gail's legs shake as she fought to remain upright.

"I tell ya, there'll be no fie-ing, foh-ing, or fum-ing me, ya lumbering mammal!" With this attestation, the gnome stomped its feet, like a bull getting ready to charge, then lowered its head and did just that. A guttural war cry and a powerful thud, and Sam was sprawled out on the ground once more, this time holding his other knee.

"What the fuck?" Sam howled. His legs basically useless now, he slid around on his ass and swatted his big hands out every direction, trying to catch the gnome.

Gail stepped back, and her foot brushed something hard. She nearly yelled again, then saw it was her gardening hoe. Snatching it up, clutching it like a battle axe, she took a swing (luckily nowhere near Sam's head) and very nearly caught the gnome. The hoe knocked its hat off and the thing squawked in anger, scrambling to regain it.

"Gi'e that back! The only hat yer fit to wear is steeple-crowned, ya harridan!" the gnome shouted. Had the creature not pitched such a fit over its headwear, Gail would've ignored it and focused instead on subduing him. So with a twist of her wrist she hooked the cap with her hoe and flipped it towards her.

The gnome wailed, a long wordless cry, and fell over prostrate in the grass. The squat humanoid scrabbled about before touching his forehead onto the ground at Gail's feet, muttering disparaging comments all the while.

"Cannae believe I allowed meself to be caught by young harum scarum and her hopping Giles," the gnome grumbled.

Sam, with a loud groan of effort, wrenched his left knee back into its socket. He then slapped his hand on the ground in an attempt to pull himself to his feet, but instead struck the gnome – still invisible to him—on the small of the creature's back, sending it toppling from a bowed position to flat-out on the ground.

Despite the bizarre situation, Gail found herself holding back a giggle. Clutching the hat tight, and trying not to give in to the hysteria that threatened, Gail went to Sam's side and took his arm as he wobbled. Sam's focus was entirely on the splayed-out form of their uninvited guest, though.

"That's a gnome," he said, sounding surprised. "I couldn't see it before. Why can I see it now?"

"Because yer lady be holding my hat in her hands, and she's wishing yeh to, that's why," came the sarcastic, muffled answer.

"Huh," Sam said. "Makes sense."

"O'course it makes sense, ye—" the gnome berated Sam's height, probable breeding and intelligence, but Gail rounded on the man, more confused by his easy acceptance of the situation than the gnome's (the flippin' garden gnome!) words.

"How," she ground out, "does any of this make sense?"

"You're holding his hat," Sam said, "that makes you his mistress, essentially." Pitching his voice a bit higher, breaking through the rumbling diatribe coming from the ground, Sam said, "Is that right?"

There was a moment of silence in which the gnome was stubbornly silent. Sam huffed in exasperation and said to Gail, "Order him to talk to me."

"What?"

"Just try it, please." He turned to her with large, limpid eyes, and Gail noticed for the first time just how Sam used expressions of distress or sympathy to get what he wanted. She'd be asking him questions later (not just about his easy manipulation but about his unblinking acceptance of the entire situation, his take-charge attitude, and any other number of things she'd never noticed before), so Gail figured she had nothing else to lose, and said, "Well, you heard him. Talk. Anything that Sam says, you answer. Truthfully."

Rolling onto its back, the gnome glared at both of them with an expression of profound distaste.

"What's your name?"

Sniffing, the gnome drew itself up to its full two-foot height, brushed the dirt off of his knees, and said in a tone of extreme dignity, "Bill."

" _Bill_?" Gail said. When both Sam and Bill stared at her, she flushed and said, "I just expected something like Nobby or Loopen or..."

Bill snorted. "So sorry to be disappointin' yer expectations, lady."

"What's your purpose in being here?"

"To watch the progress o' the Grail."

"The—" Gail stuttered, "Did you say the _grail_?"

"Who sent you?" Sam pressed on.

"I think yeh be knowin', tall man." Bill said this derisively, and Sam snorted.

"Humor me."

With a gusty sigh, the gnome said, "'Twas sent ta keep watch on the Lady Tyronoe's investments. The fallen angel and his consort, eh? Aside from a few bits and bobs that pop up where'er I go, ye should'na seen me." He glared at Gail. "How was I to know 'twould be on a first-born's homestead, and one who's trod upon fae land at that?"

"Bits and bobs?" Gail said faintly. While she'd been able to take things in stride until then, the idea that a gnome was sent to spy on them—and the phrases he'd used to describe them that she just wasn't thinking about at that moment—sent her reeling.

"The flowers," Bill said impatiently, waving his little hands toward the trees.

"What do you mean 'trod upon fae land'?" Sam demanded.

Bill sighed like a martyr. "As a wee thing, yer lady chanced upon a pixie ring sat within, thus entering our realm. Those that do can see us ever after."

Gail froze. Her mind cast back to a summer day on her grandfather's farm when she was six. She'd walked alone through the corn field –even then she'd loved gardens– and when she'd come out the other side, had found a peculiar circle of large mushrooms. It had called to her, in a way, and sitting inside the ring had been like a dream. She remembered dancing lights, but thought she must've been imagining it. Until now.

The gnome was pouting. "Can I be havin' my hat back now?"

"No!" Sam cut in, preventing Gail from passing the article over. "It gives you power over him. If you give it back, who knows what he'll do."

Instead of replying, Bill sulked, which was proof enough that Sam was right.

"I... I can't..." Gail held the cone-shaped hat, absently crushing it. Bill gave a sound of distress but the doctor didn't hear him. "Sam, I think we should go back inside now…"

"And what will ye be having me do?" Bill yelped.

"Erm... Go away, and don't return until we call you," she blurted out. The gnome gave her the nastiest of looks, but nodded and, with a twitch of his nose (an actual twitch) disappeared. Where he'd been, there popped up a few wild blue flowers.

"Shit," Sam said, staring at the all-too-familiar blossoms. "You said Dean was outside earlier?" When she nodded, Sam cursed again.

"Sam," Gail interrupted him. "What the hell is going on?"

Once more, she could have sworn Sam's eyes flashed gold, but not in anger. Now he seemed distressed, which, okay, she could totally understand in these circumstances.

"Help me inside your half," he said quietly, after a glance at the Winchester's part of the house, "and I'll tell you everything."

* * *

Castiel came home, toting two recyclable bags, and called out to Dean. There was no answer. He went to the kitchen and unloaded everything. Wondering where the heck Dean was, since the man had been so keen on Cas's being home, he thought he might go next door and ask Gail if she knew anything.

Then he saw dirty boot prints. They went from the back door, through to the living room and back again. Dean wouldn't just track them in like that, he'd come to respect having clean floors. Cas's stomach did a little odd roll. Something wasn't right.

The prints went to the bedroom door. Cas opened it and there was Dean, sitting on the edge of their bed, head bowed, eyes blank and dull. In his hands was a necktie, one of Castiel's, a blue one about two shades darker than his eyes. Dean fondled it absently.

Reaching the bed, Castiel knelt on the floor before Dean. He took the hunter's hands in his own, their uncharacteristic chill worrying him. Peering up, trying to gain Dean's attention, Cas struggled with words. Before he could ask anything, Dean began to speak.

"You died, Cas," his voice was monotone and soft, again, completely unlike Dean. "You exploded twice before, and you came back... but that last time, you didn't."

The fact Cas had exploded was mentioned in Detroit, but since then neither he nor Dean had brought it up, seeming to come to silent agreement that it wasn't to be discussed. Apparently, Cas had been wrong about that. "Why are you thinking of this now?"

"The flowers," Dean croaked out, "the woods."

It was such a random thing to say, Cas frowned in worry. "I don't underst—"

Dean's voice hitched. "Angel grace is pure creation. If it falls to earth, it makes something grow. Anna… hers was a giant oak tree, sprung up overnight."

Castiel frowned. The name was unfamiliar but hearing it brought forth an image of a slender red-haired woman breaking open a vial of pure white light, sucking it into her lungs, exploding outward in a burst that filled the room… _Angel grace_ , Castiel assumed. He touched his chest. That had once been inside him, but wasn't any longer. For the first time he felt that aching emptiness, felt an echo of just what it was he'd lost.

"She gave it up," Castiel murmured, "fell to become human. Like Sam did."

"Yeah. We don't know where Sam's grace fell. He doesn't care." Dean's eyes closed, and he gave a deep shaky sigh. Obviously he was grateful beyond words that Sam had no intention to go looking.

"And mine?" Castiel hazarded.

"Yours…" Dean swallowed, "is scattered across the desert in Utah."

Castiel shuddered. He still barely had memories of the battle, and those he did have were vague, a mish-mash of reality and the merely symbolic. He'd gathered he had died there, yet again, but Dean didn't seem to imply his grace had been expelled the first two times.

"It… it became a bluebell wood, Cas. That whole part of the desert turned into a bluebell wood."

Cas felt a sudden jolt, as the scar across his abdomen throbbed for the first time. And just like that, he knew. He'd done what Anna and Sam had, reached inside, pulled out his grace. Ripped it from his _actual_ _body_. His hand trembled over the scar. He could only wonder how he'd lived, or if he had.

"Cas, there's bluebells growing in the backyard," Dean whispered. He hadn't taken off his boots yet; there was dirt and grass clinging to them. And tiny bits of blue-purple petals.

"Dean," Castiel gasped, pulling himself up to sit on the bed. "Oh, Dean, the flowers."

"Yeah," Dean grunted. He allowed Cas to pull him closer, put his arms around his waist, and press his face against Dean's neck. "I saw them in the movie" (Cas didn't remember which movie Dean meant but now wasn't the time to ask) "and now they're growing out back. Damned fairies put 'em there." He closed his eyes and sighed. "They want me to lose my mind, I swear it."

"Dean, we don't know that."

"We might not, but I do."

"Dean," Castiel sighed. "Purposeful placement of flora or not, it doesn't matter. They can't affect you if you don't allow them."

He turned his head slightly to see Castiel. "Sounds so simple. It's not."

"I can't imagine how much it hurt," Cas murmured. "I hope I never do. If I lost you..." Reflexively, he tightened his grip on Dean's fingers, which had threaded themselves through Cas's own. "But we have one another now. I am here, not scattered across a desert floor." He pressed Dean's hand to his cheek. "I'm here and I'm not leaving."

Dean brushed a finger over Castiel's jaw. "You saved the world, you know. Every damned time you've died, you were part of saving the world. The whole _world_ , Cas. I've never died for that, not really... come close a lot, but actually dying?" A dry chuckle crawled out of his throat. "You've done that, Cas. Three times. And I know if it comes down to it you'll do it again and I can't... I can't go through that."

Castiel couldn't fathom accomplishing something as huge as saving the world, let alone multiple times over, but the thought of leaving the man at his side was even more unimaginable. Leaning forward to kiss Dean softly on the mouth, he said, "I promise you this, here and now. If ever it comes to saving the world and leaving you behind, or lying in your arms and watching the world burn… I'll choose to stay with you."

Dean's heart was pounding so hard it was actually audible. He grabbed Castiel's face in both hands, sealing their lips together. They kissed until they could hardly breathe. By silent consensus, Dean took off the dirty boots. And they both fell back onto the bed, clutching frantically at one another.

As clothes began to be peeled off, Cas said softly, "I know I said… sex doesn't cure things…" Dean paused reluctantly, an expression of worry on his face. "… but I see how it can be part of the consoling process. It shouldn't be used as…" Cas dropped a kiss to Dean's chin, "…the only means to…" his stubble brushed Dean's cheek, "…deflect pain and confusion…" he ghosted feather-light kisses across eyelids and lashes, "…it wouldn't have helped either of us in Illinois..." and dropped one more on Dean's brow, "… but now I see it can be an element in healing…"

"Shut up," Dean whispered and devoured Castiel's mouth. Their clothes were gone in another moment.

Dean held Cas down (as much as anyone could, the guy was so wiggly in bed) and kissed him all over. Tongue over the collarbones, nipping at the flesh between that and the bicep. Teasing his fingers over the little raised scar on the chest (oh, how much it ached to feel that). Lips lingering over one nipple, tugging gently as Cas whimpered and scratched at Dean's back. And down to Cas's stomach and… that scar.

He paused, breathing against the spot, then ran his tongue slowly from one edge to the other. Cas's own breath caught on a near sob, and Dean knew in that moment Cas remembered just a little bit.

He kissed it softly, once, then dipped his tongue into Cas's navel quickly, and raked a wet stripe down the trail of dark hair until his lips were brushing against that smoldering hot cock he'd come to love so well. Tongue laved and teeth nipped ever so gently up and down and over, until Cas was whining in need, begging wordlessly.

Once last long lick up Cas's cock, and Dean crawled back up the wiry body and sprawled over him. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's waist and shoved until they tumbled onto their sides, legs tucked together and cocks grinding hard against each other. While they kissed and kissed, Cas reached behind himself and nudged Dean's right hand from his back, downward, over the swell of his ass, fingertips dipping deep into the cleft.

Dean gasped as Castiel pressed his fingers inward, breaching just the tiniest bit. He pulled his head away enough to see vivid blue eyes, half-lidded, a bruised pink mouth and flushed cheeks. Questing with his fingertips, he received a pleading moan.

"You're sure?" Dean whispered, probing a little further.

Castiel grasped his elbow, flexing his hand as Dean pressed in a little more. "Yes, God, of course, Dean. I've been" -he gasped as the first knuckle slid in- "working on this myself for a while."

Dean's eyes widened. "You kinky bastard." He almost grinned when he wiggled his fingertip and was rewarded with a whimper.

"Okay, let's do this right." Reluctantly, Dean pulled his hand away; his nail caught slightly on Cas's rim as his fingertip came free, but it didn't seem to hurt, because Castiel merely gave another needy moan. Rolling over Cas to reach the bedside table, Dean pulled open the drawer and retrieved a half-used bottle of lube and a small pack of condoms (which were still sealed in the box since they'd never gotten this far; Dean had them on hand because hope isn't the only thing that springs eternal, but he cursed himself not having the foresight to take them out of the package).

Slowly, though not as slowly as expected from his research (Dean was, if nothing else, a conscientious lover, and yeah, he'd been thinking they might do this eventually and wanted to know what to expect), Dean worked Cas open. Castiel wasn't kidding when he said he'd been practicing. He knew exactly how to relax and squeeze, and Dean's lubed finger slid in steadily and easily.

Stretching Castiel bit by bit, Dean worked in and out until he was using three fingers. For a few minutes, Dean could only breathe against Cas's skin and pump his fingers in the slick heat; it felt so unbelievably good. Dean would have liked to watch Cas for just a little longer, see how he writhed, listen to him pant and whine, but Dean knew if he didn't get inside Cas soon the experience would end disappointingly for both of them. Part of Dean didn't care, because seeing Cas before him, legs spread, his fingers disappearing and returning from being enclosed in that tight body, was incredibly erotic.

Cas wasn't willing to wait, though. He grabbed impatiently at Dean's shoulders, trying to pull him upward. Laughing softly, Dean allowed himself to be led. He'd left the small strip of condoms by Castiel's head; ripping one off, he tore the foil open and unrolled the condom over his dick. Dean would have gone for more lube but Cas wrapped his legs around him and pulled until they were flush against each other, kissing him hard, and all thought of anything other than _more of this_ fled Dean's brain.

Sliding his right arm under Cas's left leg, Dean lifted until it was tucked up to Cas's chest and resting almost on Dean's shoulder. They paused, looking into each other's eyes as a silent _yes_ was exchanged once more.

With his left hand, Dean guided his cock home, slipping past readied muscles and into mind-boggling heat and tightness with a groan that rose from the depths of his lungs. He held there for a moment, savoring, basking in the sensation. He realized with shock that, other than blow jobs, he hadn't been inside another person's body in… holy crap, over a _year_. And now he was inside _Cas_. It was, he thought non-ironically, heavenly- better in a way he hadn't expected- much better than any one-night stand because it was with someone he cared about, with someone he—

Dean was willing to take it very slow, to let Cas adjust, but Cas wrapped his free leg around Dean's thigh and pushed, causing Dean to surge forward, diving deep. They both moaned low and breathless.

"Goddamn it, Cas," Dean gasped, "scorching hot inside you, so fucking hot."

Castiel eagerly dug fingers into Dean's hips, grunting, "More… _please_ …"

Dean set a steady but gentle pace, and Castiel gradually settled into a blissed-out state, moaning softly with every thrust, eyes closed, head thrown back. He licked along Cas's throat, murmuring, "Feel so damned good, my God, so good. Want you so much."

Castiel was incoherent now, shoving his own hips forward and up, trying to get more and more. Finally Dean gave it to him, hitching Cas's ass up higher, locking his knees against the bed, and driving hard, fast. Sweat slicked bodies slapped together as Dean tried to fumble around to grasp Cas's cock, but Castiel just swatted his hand away.

"Don't need," Cas began then caught his breath before heaving a trembling, grunting gasp. His body gave a spasm that nearly crushed Dean's dick as he climaxed, gushing blistering hot between their stomachs.

Dean moaned low, hips pounding just a few more times, and released. It pulled from so deep inside, trying to climb out of him and into Castiel. As the pulse in his body slowed down, he was unwilling to let go of Cas or move off to the side. He just hugged and held and breathed hard against Cas's throat.

"Dean," Cas eventually whispered, stroking his back. Dean let Cas's leg slide down into a more comfortable spot, but didn't move otherwise. "Dean," Cas said again, gently. "Are you all right?" When Dean didn't respond immediately, Castiel nudged him gently with his shoulder. "Did I break you?"

Dean laughed softly, lifted his head and gazed down at the man beneath him. Sweaty, mussed, sticky, completely gorgeous. He slid slowly out of Cas and rolled over to grab tissues. When he went to dab at the mess, Castiel took them out of his hands, carefully removed the condom and, after tossing it in the nearby trash, wiped both their stomachs until they were as clean as they could get with tissues alone. When Dean looked up at Cas's face, he expected to see perhaps calm serenity or even fucked-out languor, but instead Castiel's blue eyes were sparkling and he was grinning.

"What?" Dean chuckled, a smile spreading on his own face.

"I promised to choose you over the world," Cas said, disposing of the used tissues before returning to the circle of Dean's waiting arms, "and then there were mutual orgasms. You have to promise me something as well."

Blinking, thinking at that moment he would do anything Cas asked, up to and including wearing pink every day for the rest of his life and adopting a whole pack of yippy dogs, Dean said, "Of course. What is it?"

"That you'll do this again." Castiel was still smiling widely, more than a hint of mischief crinkling his features. "Because I really, _really_ liked it."

Dean just put his face into the pillow and laughed, then pulled Castiel closer. Doing this again? He could handle that, yeah. "Deal."

While they lay there, grinning like idiots and stroking gently on each other, Dean's contented mind wandered. Bluebells in the woods. And here in a cozy little room, cut off from the world, like a cabin… Lying on soft old quilts in a large bed…. With a steamer trunk in the corner.

Holy shit. _His dreams had come true._ Maybe it wasn't a sign of _loss_ , as he'd feared. In his dreams, he'd _regained_ Castiel. Now he wondered if he should he feel freaked out. Or maybe grateful that the fucking universe had given him something amazing for once. Sighing against Cas's cheek, he let himself, just for now, accept the latter.

* * *

Three hours, two pots of tea and a whole package of shortbread cookies later, Gail's head was throbbing. She'd put an ice pack on Sam's wrenched knee, then sat and listened carefully to everything Sam told her, watched as he pointed out the protections he'd secretly placed in her home (the bright orange spray-painted Solomon's seal on the underside of a –thankfully inexpensive—rug had been a shock) and, when she thought there was no forthcoming physical proof of Sam's claims, was treated to a demonstration of his 'powers' as he turned on appliances with his mind.

Gail felt that tea would no longer be enough. Though she hadn't smoked in a few months, she suddenly and desperately wanted a cigarette. She fumbled in her purse for some nicotine gum that was hopefully was still floating around. "Well… I guess that explains a lot."

Sam lifted his head. It'd been bowed, like a scolded dog waiting for another whack from a newspaper. Gail found the (slightly linty but still edible) gum and, with a noise of triumph, popped it into her mouth.

"You're not going to kick us out?" he asked, slightly incredulously.

"Kick you out?" The idea hadn't honestly occurred to her. "No, of course not. Like I said, a lot of things make more sense now. You and your brother and... Castiel, for one." She'd seen him bleed, watched over him as he relearned to walk and talk, had plotted courses of treatment, which made it tough to imagine him as anything other than flesh-and-blood human and not a former member of the Heavenly Host.

"I've seen a lot of things in my time as a doctor," Gail said patiently. "And I've seen a lot since meeting you and your brother that... defies description. Not least of which was the apparent power of love literally saving a patient from death." She smiled wryly.

Sam smiled weakly in return, and scrunched up his forehead (she recognized this move now, as empathy and apology mixed). "Everything I've said before, about being grateful for your help, and that our lives are better because of it…"

"I know, you're sincere," Gail's lips twitched. Her hand reached out and gripped his clenched fingers. "And believe me when I say that having you all here… I wouldn't trade the experience for anything."

* * *

  
True to his word, Dean taught Cas to drive. Well, Sam did most of the actual hands-on teaching since he was more patient, and they used Sam's car of course. Cas was, thankfully, a fast learner. His fake driver's license would finally be more than fake ID.

Sam photographed the momentous occasion when Dean finally let Cas take the wheel of the Impala. Dean might as well have put a ring on Cas's finger for the fuss Sam made.

 

* * *

Sam's thirtieth birthday was approaching fast, and it made him a little edgy. He shouldn't feel the least different about it, compared to any other, but somehow passing from his twenties into a new decade felt strange. Like finally, even knowing he was ancient in some ways, he was grown up.

Plus – and he wasn't admitting this to a soul – it made him feel just slightly less weird about being interested in Gail – which he was finally admitting to himself. She was six years older than him (seven, next month). It didn't seem to matter to anyone else (he was aware of Dean's approval, even if unspoken). Yet Sam still felt boyish around her, unable to admit his attraction. For the first time since Jessica, he was considering something more than a quick fling, and it was daunting.

Dean, the asshole, made it just that much harder with his plans for Sam's birthday. It was Dean who was adamant they celebrate in the first place – just because they finally could, as they'd never gotten parties in their whole lives. But damn it, Dean was being a dick.

There were streamers and confetti. There were matching paper plates, napkins and party hats (with a SpongeBob theme, for fuck's sake). There was wrapping paper for whatever undoubtedly cheesy gifts he'd bought (with race cars on it). There was a goddamned piñata (which at least was donkey-shaped). And since Gail was participating, having baked a incredible cake (less childish, thank God – it was doubled-layered chocolate with white crème frosting, and sliced fruit as a topping instead of the plastic pirate ship with its scurvy crew that had been bought by his prick of a brother), Sam couldn't even escape. He couldn't let her down. God damn it all.

Yet, when the day came and a case pulled Dean and Cas away at the same time, he was oddly disappointed.

 

* * *

  
** May **   


A hunter was pinned down in his own cabin by a ghost deer, which had already killed two other hunters. Additionally, the spirit had a hypnotic effect, sending the hunter into deep sleep during the daytime so he couldn't escape his own home. At night he would awaken only to be harried by the deer again. It was a strange case. And Dean would've been fascinated, but it was so damned far away in the northern California mountains, and it was Sam's birthday after all.

Then Castiel discovered the coordinates and made the decision for them. He reminded Dean of the prophet's words in Detroit, and it did seem to fit the pattern. Sort of.

 _They would go west, where fire and earth and ice dwelled together…_ Weed, California, was a scrubby little town that was partly desert terrain, sitting between a mountain range and an honest-to-God dormant volcano covered with snow year-round. The part that bothered him most: _Death would come to those who'd dealt death to Dean…_ Mind you, death to his enemies wasn't a bad thing, in principle. But he couldn't imagine what the hell it meant.

Most of the prophecy didn't make sense anyway, but Castiel seemed to think it did, and yeah – they were going.

They would miss Sam's actual birthday, and Sam pouted (which was hilarious, considering how much he'd been resisting it before). But since Sam had the good doctor to take care of him while he was alone and sad and vulnerable… Well, maybe they'd stop dancing around and do something. _Like, each other_ , Dean thought with a grin.

* * *

"Never heard of an animal having a ghost," Dean muttered.

"There is lore to support it," Castiel said, thumbing through the book he'd gotten from Sam, as they drove through the twisty mountain roads. "They seem to come about in the same manner as human ghosts. Violent deaths are most common. But there are also spirit animals, mostly seen as guides or guardians – less ghost and more elemental."

"Elemental?" Dean asked suspiciously. "Are we dealing with another fairyland thing? Like the damned gnomes and nymphs and whatever the fuck else?"

"Well, it's possible, but I don't think so. Fae spirits are most often in humanoid form, sometimes with animal features but not entirely animal themselves. There is deer worship in some cultures, though it seems to be largely focused on the symbolism of the animal. In this case, I suspect a vengeful spirit manifesting as an animal."

Nodding, Dean said, "Definitely vengeful, all right. Killing two hunters and trapping this Ethan guy in his own house. And since he stood with us at the battle in Utah…" He cut off, glancing at Castiel to see if any memory of the event was coming through, but saw only a mild frown. "Anyway, we gotta do our best here. We owe him, big time."

Castiel was silent then, obviously still wishing he could force his memories. After a moment, he sighed and went back to reading. "The lore on this particular ghost is fairly old and regionally confined. It seems to target hunters. I mean actual hunters, those that shoot wildlife. So I guess we can assume he hunts game as well as monsters."

"Yeah, Bobby said. So this guy kills one too many Bambis and now we got a rogue Rudolph on our hands."

"If I recall correctly, there was only one Bambi—"

"Metaphor, Cas."

"And Rudolph was a rein—"

"Never mind. You do this on purpose now, don't you?"

Castiel grinned to himself. Though his understanding of cultural references wasn't perfect it had grown considerably thanks to Dean's "education". And they both knew it made Dean perversely happy when Cas pretended not to "get it".

Dean grinned in return. "All right. Let's go kick some white tail." His smile split wider as Cas gave a groan.

* * *

The town of Weed was a couple dozen roads, eight churches, and no Wal-Mart. At least it had a McDonald's – this was always a sign of civilization that somehow made Dean relax. He still hoped they'd be done with this case by day's end.

Ethan's cabin lay outside the actual town, at the edge of old lava flow from the volcano (which Castiel assured him only erupted every few hundred years, and no it wasn't due anytime soon). Finding the place was nearly impossible and the GPS was no help on the virtually unmapped dirt road where the cabin sat. The volcano was clearly visible in the distance as they turned right onto… Angel Valley Road. Of course.

_Thanks, universe. We get the point. You can stop this shit anytime._

The first road on the left was a hard-packed dirt track. It led past a rundown trailer home, and half a mile back into the scrub. This Ethan dude was such a hermit it was a wonder he'd shown up in Utah at all.

It had taken so long to find the damned place that night was already falling, and they got out of the car very cautiously. They made it to the front door without any sign of the ghost deer, and were lucky enough that Ethan answered their knocking, having just awakened a few minutes earlier.

Ethan grunted and stood aside for them to enter. "Damn good to see ya. I sure hope you guys can get rid of this damned thing so I can get the hell outta here."

Dean paused, breathless, after stepping no more than ten feet into the living room. It was a taxidermaphobic's nightmare. The heads of deer, boar, goats, antelope, sheep, and even a wolf hung on the walls. Full stuffed squirrels, fox, rabbits, pheasants, ducks, bass, rattlesnakes, God-only-knew what the fuck else, sat around on tables, shelves, the floor. There were two chairs and a sofa, thankfully critter-free, but Dean didn't want to sit down near any of the creepy-ass things.

"Uh, nice collection," he said weakly.

"Shot, skinned and stuffed 'em myself," Ethan said proudly. "Got my own 'lab' in the back room."

Dean's face froze in a sickly sort of grin. "Awesome."

"You guys hungry? I gotta eat something, just woke up and all," Ethan moved into the kitchen (only stuffed fish on those walls). "I eat what I kill, ya know, it's not all for fun," he said, as though they were judging him (which Dean kind of was).

"Uh, that's nice." Dean accepted the beers Ethan thrust at him, passing one to Castiel who stood gaping at the rooms with a mixture of curiosity and horror. "But I think we should just get on with the case, quick as possible."

"Yeah, it's been a fuckin' mess," the other hunter groused as he grabbed cold slabs of meat (Dean did not want to know what animal) and bread, making a dry sandwich that he gobbled down with his beer. "Ain't even been able to get their bodies out of here."

Dean startled briefly, then squinted and looked around. "Bodies?" Then it dawned. "You mean _the_ _other_ _hunters_? Their bodies are still here?"

"It's not like I've had any way to bury or burn 'em proper." Ethan looked at Dean like he was stupid for even asking. "Damned deer shish-kebabed 'em while they were running back to the house. Got 'em out in the shed right now," he nodded out the side door toward a small building about twenty yards away. "Closest I could get to the house before it came after me again. There's stuff in the shed for a pyre, if you get a chance."

Dean winced. "Yeah, we'll try. Let's get out the magic wand in here first, set up some warding, then head on outside."

Castiel unpacked ingredients, books and various tools, giving them both instructions on where to place things. Cas had become quite good at the spell-work side of hunting, for which Dean was glad as he hated touching the stuff. He didn't like witchcraft anyway and usually left the magic to Bobby and sometimes Sam. Castiel was a natural.

There were the standard candles, chalk marks, and smoky crap tossed in a dish while Latin was chanted. When Castiel was satisfied with his spell, he dusted off his hands and said, "That should be good enough to keep the ghost a five-meter radius from the house. If your vehicle is within that range, you might be able to drive away without harm."

Ethan grunted again. "No point, damned ghost flattened all the tires last night."

Dean frowned. "Has it been closer every night?"

"Yeah, a little bit at a time. I had some old wards around the grounds, just talismans hanging in the trees and whatnot. But it's managed to knock those down somehow."

Dean whistled. "That thing is pretty pissed off. Guess we better suit up and head out." He and Castiel gathered up the general anti-ghost weaponry and crept out the side door. There was no sign of the deer, and they made it to the shed easily.

Dean swung the door to the small building open, shaking his head at the loss of fellow hunters. They cast lights around to see what could be used for a pyre, when Dean caught sight of the hunters' faces.

"Holy shit," he hissed. "I don't fucking believe it."

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"Goddamned _everything_ , that's what," Dean snapped, kneeling to look more closely at the bodies. "It's Roy and Walt. Bastards shot me and Sam a couple years ago. Fucking _killed_ us, sent us upstairs for probably the dozenth time. That's when you told us to find Joshua—"

 _Death would come to those who'd dealt death to Dean._ Well, fuck.

Dean flicked a glance at Castiel, who had made the connection, too.

"I remember something of your trip to Heaven," Cas said slowly. "Mostly that it ended with no answers and deep heartbreak for every one of us. And… drunkenness of epic proportions."

"That's for sure," Dean grumbled. "Well, they can damned well wait 'til morning. Let's find this ghost, fast. I wanna get the hell away from Norman Bates in _there_ and –and… Brutus and Judas in _here_."

Castiel was just opening his mouth to undoubtedly correct or question Dean's comparisons, but he was in no mood. Stomping out of the shed, Dean raised his sawed-off and strode into the darkness.

He'd gone another twenty yards before he realized Castiel wasn't behind him. Looking back, he squinted through the darkness, through the scrubby trees and bushes, and barely saw the lights from the house. Heart pounding, wondering if anything had happened to Cas, he was just turning to start back when Cas came jogging to catch up.

Dean growled at him, "What the hell, Cas, we're supposed to stick together."

Cas nodded but ignored the issue. "There's something not right about their wounds, Dean. Ethan said they'd been gored by a deer. Ghost or not, it would have multi-pronged antlers. The bodies have only one puncture each. It looks more like they've been stabbed with a sword or spear, not attacked by an animal."

"So maybe Ethan killed them himself. Shit. Okay, definitely time to call for back up—" But Castiel's eyes had gone wide, looking beyond Dean's shoulder, and Dean muttered, "Ah, hell," before he turned around.

A fog had rolled in from nowhere. There was a muted light glowing inside. As it closed in upon them, the light shaped itself into animal form, roughly deer-like. It stood still as though thinking over whether to attack. Then it charged.

Dean and Cas unloaded salt rounds, to no effect. Dean reached for his pistol fitted with iron rounds, and was raising it to fire when he saw clearly what the creature actually was.

"What the fuck? Is that a _unicorn_?" he shouted, his face twisting in disbelief.

 _Great_. Dwarves, fairies, gnomes, the Lady of the freaking Lake. And now unicorns. _Why the hell not?_

Castiel was gaping in awe, and Dean rapped him on the shoulder. "Move! We got nothing to fight it with!" Even Excalibur would've been useless, unfortunately, and the damned sword had refused to come with him _again_.

They sprinted back toward the house, dodging and weaving through the scrub, the sound of hooves pounding the earth behind them. But the fog had crept to surround them, making the way impossible to find. When Castiel stumbled and went down, Dean turned to face the beast, gun drawn again. Unicorns were supposed to come from fairyland, weren't they? Iron should work, right?

The unicorn had pulled to a halt, breath puffing out as it regarded the two men. Dean could see it wasn't really very… unicorn-y, at least no more than angels had turned out to be angel-y. It looked more like an antelope than a horse. The body was white, the mane and tail were bloody red streaked with black. Its eyes were like blue gas flames, almost demonic. The only thing that made it clearly a unicorn was the horn, long as Dean's forearm, spiraling upward from its head. And that was a swirling mix of flashing red and gleaming white, pulsing with magic and menace.

He fired a few iron rounds. The damned thing danced aside, every bullet missing it without trouble.

Castiel stood then, his angel blade drawn (how the _hell_ did he manage to keep it hidden in that coat?). Maybe something unearthly would be the best weapon. The unicorn saw the sword and it froze, pawing the ground in frustration. Good, there was a chance. But how to get close enough to fight it without being skewered?

And then the ground rumbled, shifting noticeably underfoot. He could hear rocks tumbling in the distance, and the crunching of trees. Dean struggled to keep his feet, almost in a panic. "What the fuck? The volcano?"

"No," Cas said, wobbling on his feet but keeping his sword steady. "There's another creature here."

"Big enough to shake the ground? Shit. What next? _Dinosaurs_?" Dean would've laughed if he didn't worry it was now actually a possibility. Then he saw a large form growing within the fog, and he frowned in confusion.

"Cas… is that a _giraffe_?"

Castiel's eyes flicked away from the unicorn to the newcomer. "Ah… no, Dean, that would be the Questing Beast of Arthurian legend. And I think we'd better find a way back to the house very, very quickly."

"The what?" Dean stared at the huge thing as it materialized fully. It was as tall as a giraffe, certainly, and it was a golden color with dark spots. But the body was leonine, rippling with muscle. The neck was more snake-like than merely long, and was waving back and forth. A long, thin head with curling horns lowered to regard the men while its feline tail thrashed in clear agitation.

"Let's just say the Black Beast of Arrrgh, shall we? Get the idea?"

"Oh, fuck."

The unicorn charged again. Dean dodged enough that the beast's horn didn't punch a hole straight through his guts, but it grazed his thigh and he tumbled to the ground, howling. The wound hurt much more than it should. He tried to staunch the flow of blood, which felt like liquid fire pouring over his fingers.

"Dean!" Castiel leapt to the fallen hunter's side as the unicorn turned to make a second run. Sword in hand, he braced himself for the worst. They would go down fighting every inch, just as they always did. His eyes locked with those of the creature; both were blazing blue and filled with righteous fury. Snarling, he said, "You will not have him!"

"Calm yourself," came a voice deeper than his own had ever been.

But the voice wasn't meant for him. The unicorn obeyed the command and trotted away to stand beside the giant Beast, which had spoken the words.

Risking it, Castiel fell to his knees and examined Dean quickly. The man was nearly unconscious already. Cas tugged frantically at Dean's clothes, searching for the wound. He found it on Dean's thighs. Slashed across, just like all his nightmares. _The king fallen, bleeding, broken..._ He reached to press against the gashes and saw they weren't bleeding much. Instead they glowed red. They were no longer merely slashes… _They were symbols..._

_A circle. Symbols, one inside, one above, two below. Carved deeply enough to feel, even through his vessel…_

_Dean's hand shook badly while slicing into his chest, green eyes showing naked pain in a carefully neutral face. But the cuts had to reach down to his true form, so that when his hand pressed there, it would pull the grace from within and banish the others and himself. He would give Dean the chance, even if it was pointless in the end._

_There was no faith anymore. God had abandoned them. Dean was abandoning them. But love hadn't left. Love was deeper than even his grace…_

Castiel shook himself, returning to the present.

He pressed against Dean's thigh, blood trickling slowly between his fingers. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself, he looked up at the Beast and whispered, "What do you want?"

The Beast's large dark eyes blinked slowly, and its long neck wove downward to see Castiel more closely. "From you… nothing. You are not a hunter. You are… a warrior. You do not have a human weapon."

"No, I was an angel once. I'm a human and a hunter now."

It shook that long neck, and thus its head, negatively. "No, you are more. You are searching. Questing. You will find it soon."

Suddenly Castiel understood. _The tapestry in the Lady's tower._ That hadn't been a jackal with a horn: it was the feral unicorn. Wonderful, another quest down, if they survived.

"What do you want with Dean, then? He's done nothing to either of you," Castiel dared a glance at the unicorn standing behind the Beast. He knew they wouldn't be allowed to leave without coming to an understanding with the creatures. "Please, let us go. He'll die if I don't treat him…"

The Beast made a rumbling noise deep in its chest, a strange sound like a pack of hounds baying, and the unicorn strode forward. Castiel flinched and reached again for his sword, but the Beast said softly, "Don't." The unicorn stopped before them, lowered its head and breathed a stream of white mist upon Dean's wounds; the bleeding ceased.

It stepped back again, and Castiel stared in confusion at the Beast. "Thank you," he murmured diplomatically. Then, more directly, "Why are you both here?"

"For the hunters."

"Dean isn't like them."

"No?" the Beast asked. "He kills our sort. What he would call monsters."

Castiel's heart pounded. "He does it to protect others. He may not try to understand the things he kills, but he doesn't take joy in it."

"Yes, this is true," the Beast conceded. "We are here for those that do take joy. My companion has been hunted much. He sees all hunters as the same." Coming closer to Castiel, it continued, "You will stop this hunter for us."

"We can't kill him," Castiel shook his head. "We don't kill other humans."

"Send him out. We will kill him."

"I… don't think I can do that. It's not right."

The Beast paused, considering. "You must see what he has done. You may change your mind."

* * *

The creatures allowed Castiel and Dean to return to the house. Dean was feverish and a bit delirious but walking under his own power. Castiel was grateful yet deeply suspicious and glanced over his shoulder constantly, but they reached the house safely.

He and Ethan helped Dean to the couch then Ethan went for his medical kit. While the other hunter worked at stitching the worst of Dean's gashes, Castiel excused himself to go wash blood off. Instead he went past the bathroom and into the back room Ethan had spoken of, just as the Questing Beast had instructed, and saw what was there.

Castiel moved slowly to the bathroom, back stiff and jaw tight. He quickly washed his hands and returned to the living room. And sighed as the final sign appeared.

On a cluttered side table, next to a stuffed chipmunk… A hunting trophy glowing like golden fire.

Meanwhile, Ethan was chuckling at him, "Thought ya fell in, back there." Castiel wasn't exactly sure of the reference, but understood a responding laugh was in order. Ethan snipped off the final stitch in Dean's leg and placed a bandage over it. Dean was mostly unconscious again, but seemed all right now.

"Well, that should hold 'til you can get it done more professional," Ethan pushed aside the medical gear. He looked up sideways at Castiel, and asked, "So you guys got it then?"

"We... dealt with it." Castiel said carefully.

"Thank fuck," Ethan slapped his knees with a grin. He went to the kitchen for more beer, handing a can to Cas before cracking open his own. "Cheers, man." He clacked the two cans together before taking a long swallow. "You guys saved my ass."

"You… saved ours once, I am told," Castiel said, sipping at the beer, which he found to be cheap and sour. "I don't remember much from that time."

Ethan looked at him closely now. "Oh hell, you're one of the angels!" he declared, grinning. "Guess I pulled a lucky straw, getting you on this case."

"Yes, I guess so…" Castiel put the can down and nodded toward the side door. "If you still wish to build a pyre for your friends, perhaps we can do it together. I don't think Dean will be up to it for some time."

"Yeah, can't leave those guys out there much longer. Ain't right," Ethan finished his beer, crushed the can, belched loudly and went outside.

Castiel waited until he was off the porch, then latched the door. Ethan heard the lock click and turned back with an angry face. "What the fuck are—"

The hunter didn't finish the sentence, didn't even realize what was coming. A long gleaming white horn thrust into his back, piercing his heart, a spray of blood and organs bursting through his chest. Ethan was dead in an instant. The unicorn shook its head forcefully, dislodging the corpse with something like disgust. Then it trotted back into the fog, completely satisfied and no longer concerned.

The Questing Beast stood at the edge of the trees, gazing upon the scene mildly. It nodded in Castiel's direction, as if to thank him, and then turned to follow the unicorn. The fog crept back through the trees and vanished.

Castiel stood inside the door, breathing hard and grimacing. Why had it been left to him to make such a brutal, final decision? He'd sacrificed a human being to supernatural creatures, deliberately and coldly. Well, not coldly. He was aching inside.

Yet, under the circumstances, it had felt justified. The creatures had as much right to their own brand of justice as any other being. Dean would almost certainly disagree, and might even hate Castiel for what had been done. He could simply lie and say Ethan went outdoors on his own… but, no. Cas would tell the truth and hope to be understood.

Before letting Castiel retreat to the house with Dean, the Beast had promised it would call upon him later. There would a gift, a message to help Castiel on his quest.

 _They would meet a monster who may be friend and a man who may be foe..._ And so they had.

Castiel shuddered. When Dean woke, he would show him the evidence. Then they would burn it, along with the house and the three bodies in the yard.

* * *

"Oh, Sam," Gail _tsked_ sympathetically, "you really were looking forward to the pirate-ship cake, weren't you?"

Sam lifted his head from his hands, a bit startled. He hadn't heard her come up behind him while he was not-quite sulking in front of his laptop, half-heartedly searching for cases to take his mind off things.

"Well, maybe not the cake. Or the other weird crap Dean had planned. But… it's just…" He sighed. "We never did birthdays, you know? And Dean wasn't around for the last 'big' one, when I turned twenty. I was at Stanford already. I guess he's been pushing for the 'normal' birthday so much that… yeah, I kinda got caught up in the idea."

"There's nothing wrong with being a little disappointed." She rubbed comforting circles on his shoulder.

Sam leaned into the touch. "Yeah, there is. I should know better than to get my hopes up for anything normal." He internally berated himself for being so maudlin.

Gail was silent, waiting to see if he'd continued. When he didn't, she snaked her hand up to cup the back of his neck, then gripped it and shook his head playfully. "All right, gloomy Gus, let's get out of here."

"Out?" He tilted his head up, and couldn't help smiling at her grin.

"Yes," Gail said firmly. "So your plans fell through. Let's make new ones. Bobby's still coming down later today for dinner, right? The three of us will still do that, and you two can regale me with stories sure to be all the more terrifying because they're real." Sam laughed softly at that. "But until then, let's go exploring. I haven't been able to just cruise around town since I moved back, I've been spending most of my time at the hospital, and you're still new enough to the area. So… let's go out and see what's happening. "

Sam folded himself into Gail's Mercedes (the one really expensive thing she bothered to own, mostly because it was a very good car), and she drove him around, pointing out various landmarks, both historical and personal. Such as the old drive-in theater – which was now shut down – Gail blushingly admitted to losing her virginity at. And the ice cream parlor she'd loved as a kid which was still in business. They stopped for double-scoops and flipped through tourist brochures picked up at a gas station.

"There's a museum and a community theater just down the street from the duplex," Sam mused, mouth full of cherry amaretto ice cream. "I've been meaning to visit those."

Gail finished her chocolate toffee (with vanilla on the bottom, to 'cleanse the palate'), and grinned mischievously. "Or how about this – the university is having a theology debate. Might be fun to add your unique perspective to things, eh?"

"Yeah, I somehow doubt they're going to accept 'because I lived it' as a source for debate," Sam chuckled.

In the end they drove an hour south to Inman for the Kansas Sampler Festival, and spent four hours wandering through the crowds, past vendors, artist's booths, and cultural displays. Sam noted that Dean would be sorry he missed the Wild West costumed performers. Gail bought him a book about Gandhi, written and signed by a local author (she didn't even tease him about that). They ate kebabs and drank micro-brewed ale. And when Gail slipped her hand into Sam's, making his pulse trip, he didn't pull away.

When Sam reluctantly turned to tell Gail they should head back to meet Bobby at the house, she stopped him with a kiss.

He didn't pull away then, either.

* * *

Dean was still recovering from the nearly fatal wound and a slight case of magical poisoning. He had made Castiel swear never to tell Sam that he'd almost been killed by a unicorn ("for fuck's sake, that's girlier than being kidnapped by fairies" and wouldn't be pacified by Castiel's insistence that nothing was 'girly' when it involved a murderous creature with a three-foot horn). But otherwise they were largely silent.

Castiel did all the driving the first day, so they went much slower and had to stop overnight in a motel. While Dean slept like the dead, Cas sat up late, thinking too hard.

He'd come across the Questing Beast in his Grail research. It was treated as an allegory, of two types. One was symbolic of chaos, violence, and (perversely) incest. In other more generous viewpoints, it symbolized a fruitless and never-ending quest, the windmill at which the mad knight tilted. Knowing that the actual flesh and blood creature existed and that he'd met it personally made him pause.

The Beast said it would send a message. Would it be useful or just another windmill? Was his own quest leading to anything other than remembering his life? What could be so vitally important that others were so determinedly pushing him toward it?

He had so many dreams that continued to tease and worry him. There must be something… something important.

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey (Dean demanded something far stronger than beer and Sam allowed it), they explained to Sam – with Bobby on speakerphone – what they'd done, and what they'd seen that made them do it.

"My God," Dean said, voice rough. "The bastard had a stuffed werewolf. A shifter with its skin halfway peeled back, so you could see two different faces. Demon heads with black eyes, though those could just as easily have been humans with fakes put in. Dude was fucking sick. Actually had a freaking wraith. And vampire heads, five of them." Here he swallowed hard and looked down. "One of them was Lenore, Sam. She was stuffed and mounted on that fucker's wall like an animal." His voice cracked completely and he downed the whiskey and reached for more.

Sam knew that only a few years ago Dean would have considered anything but a true human as no better than an animal. Sam would like to think he'd had a hand in changing Dean's mind, and maybe he had. But Castiel… Only an angel could've reached inside Dean and shifted his viewpoint around so gradually, to see not only the potential of goodness in some so-called monsters, but to love something that wasn't purely human.

_The heart would see beyond what the mind believed, and see that light could live in dark places._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Read more [about](http://goo.gl/4M7mx)  [gnomes](http://goo.gl/sCx3H). And more about [pixie rings](http://goo.gl/IoRzn).  
> -A lot of the things Bill the gnome says are old slang or colloquial phrases. "only hat fit to wear is steeple-crowned" means that she should be burnt as a heretic. The victims of the Autos-de-Fe (Inquisition) were outfitted with [steeple-crowned hats](http://goo.gl/380Kj). A "harum-scarum" is a crazy person. "Hopping Giles" refers to [St. Giles](http://goo.gl/x1ePj), the patron saint of cripples. Also, when Bill calls Sam a "tall man", he's not just referring to his height—he's likening him to the Welsh 'tall men' or 'champions', like described in Ch. 1 of Sir W. Scott's [_The Betrothed_ ](http://goo.gl/KyKft). Or like in Shakespeare's _Merry Wives of Windsor_ when Falstaff says: "You were good soldiers, and tall fellows."  
>  \- Read more about [the](http://goo.gl/62zJU) [Ghost](http://goo.gl/KomvJ)  [Deer](http://goo.gl/pxJbF).  
> \- To see these locations, put the coordinates into Google Map: Weed, California ( **41.4226, -122.3861** ); Mt. Shasta volcano ( **41.4124, -122.1939** ) [green arrow, not red marker]; where I imagine to be Ethan's cabin ( **41.4435 -122.3684** ) – no idea what it really is  
> \- Dean always said he'd be the one to kill Roy and Walt for what they did. Oh, well.  
> \- The unicorn is based on the older, wilder version called the[ hippos monokeras.](http://www.theoi.com/Thaumasios/HippoiMonokerata.html)  
> \- Read more about the [Questing](http://goo.gl/YNKbb) [Beast](http://goo.gl/i0IhR)  [legends](http://goo.gl/6HCgA) (we've altered its purpose just a tiny bit for the story). The way I picture it is somewhere between these [two](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v337/hexxennea/supernatural/Questing-Beast-1.jpg) [images](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v337/hexxennea/supernatural/questing-beast.jpg).  
> \- Think of the ice cream parlor as something between [Bogey's](http://goo.gl/qvRj9) (local, with only shakes and malts, not cones) and [Braum's](http://goo.gl/qs5sG) (a chain restaurant, with tons of flavors but less homey style).  
> \- Sam refers to [The Smoky Hill Museum](http://goo.gl/nxpDh) and [Salina Community Theater](http://goo.gl/gWMkU). Both are on Iron Avenue, which is the street we imagined the duplex sits on (near the west end, no precise address).  
> \- [Kansas State University ](http://goo.gl/ZIo6X)may or may not have open forums, but they do have a Psychology of Religion course which sounds fascinating.  
> \- The[ Kansas Sampler Festival](http://goo.gl/lLiQo) doesn't take place exactly on Sam's birthday, but it does for our purposes. Inman was chosen as the location because it has been held there in the past (it rotates to another city every two years). [Here's a list of past exhibitors.](http://goo.gl/0ij9o)  
> \- The Wild West performers Sam mentions are [Gunsmoke and Petticoats](http://goo.gl/aBAhO).  
> \- Sorry to kill Lenore like that. It was crueler than how Castiel killed her in canon (which we didn't know would happen when we wrote about her in UYI).


	9. PART II - CHAPTER 9: Icarus II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a long trip is required, a huge piece of the past is recovered, and precious things are shared.

** Late May **  


 

_The armor chafed, ill-fitting and heavy. Spattered with the blood of battle, he trod the hard-packed ground, head down and dispirited. The sword he wielded had cracked into pieces, the flying shards killing everything in its path. He could not find all the parts to piece it back together, and without the sword he wasn't certain of his welcome. Still, he walked, alone and weary, to find the king. It is forever lost, he murmured, and I can never return it to him, nor heal him from the wounds I inflicted._

_A disembodied voice spoke a language he didn't recognize but still understood. It said: Only he who knows the answer to the question not yet asked, by that which he serves, can mend it._

_A sharp pain bloomed in his chest. He fell gasping to the ground as a hole burst open where his heart should be. Blood, black and red and sparkling white, drained from him._

_The blackness was sucked downward into the earth. The red spread across his skin and slowly crept back into his veins. The white shimmered like glittering dusting powder. As it drifted away he cried out in sorrow for the loss. Still, he knew he must go on. Ahead was the palace: cold, bright, and waiting. The gate, so close. His feet, so heavy._

_An anchor of bronze clung to his leg by a rope of hide. The tanned skin bit into his flesh, constricting until he thought his leg would be ripped away. He was surrounded by a fierce being of lighting and storm clouds, and the fear in his heart was overwhelming. He couldn't fight it; his sword was gone. Fighting would be pointless, meaningless._

_The voice spoke once more, saying: The path is false only to those who have not transformed themselves._

_Bursting through and dispelling the clouds was a golden goblet holding the white powered light from his blood. He reached for it, hoping that its return would heal him. But it sprouted wings and flew away, hurtling towards the still-too-distant palace. He attempted to chase after, dragging the anchor, weeping._

_The gates opened. He crawled inside to see the goblet hovering over the empty throne. His ponderous footsteps sounded like thunder's rumble in the empty room. The goblet tilted and spilled onto the seat. With a leap forward he tried to catch even a grain of the sifting sand but it poured down, into the black pit the base of the throne had become._

_He collapsed, abasing himself onto the cold stone floor. His armor so heavy and tight. How could he heal the king, or himself, without the white blood nor the sword? All that remained was red, uselessly hiding underneath his skin and between his bones. It writhed inside and he felt unclean. Struggling upright, he peeled his armor away, sloughing it as though by doing so he was shedding his frustrating skin. The anchor went with the armor. He was free, but his body was still impure. He needed to wash._

_Rising, naked, he approached the throne. He felt his skin tighten and throb with heat, the pulse pounding in his ears. The seat of the throne was sealed with a cushion of softest leather. Stroking his fingertips across the supple, smooth surface, he felt a tightening in his loins as he grew erect. The demand of his flesh pulled him to his knees. Bowing before the throne, he rested his weary head on its seat and stroked himself until his seed spilled on the stone floor. He was horrified of the way he'd soiled the throne, the way he'd further soiled himself._

_The voice said: The wise and the valiant are mad to the vulgar._

_Crying out, he looked around, praying his lust had not been seen, but they were where he'd suspected they'd be, standing in the shadows. Three witnesses: an angel with the bloody spear, its eyes and hair of flames; the witch holding the silver dish, etched with crawling sigils, her feet smeared with mud; and the child-bride under her veil, holding the goblet he'd needed so desperately. The cup now spilled water across the floor, offering him a means to wash himself. Yet when he approached the witch stepped before him and raised the lid of the dish._

_Gaping with horror, its mouth screaming in a language he didn't know, was his own head._

_He shoved past the witch and reached again for the goblet. The fiery angel stepped forward, serenely thrusting the bloody spear into his gut. It passed through and the pain was extreme, but when it slid out of his body there was a white light shining from within the wound. He cried in happiness, even with the agony. The child lifted the goblet and began to pour the water over his skin, washing away the redness and impurity._

_But the king was there, pinching his upper arm harshly, demanding attention as he spoke: You would leave now, after spending yourself upon my floor? Who do you serve?_

_He cringed but raised his face, turning back to see his king. Green eyes flashed at him, demanding yet also pleading. He could do nothing, when confronted with that stare, but return to the throne. The sword, and all of its pieces, lay shattered across the king's lap. Reaching out, he grasped a piece. It cut his palm, the pain sharp and bright as the red blood welling forth to mix with the king's. They both sighed in a mixture of hurt and hunger. They moved closer until he felt the rising heat of the king's body._

_Again the king said: Who do you serve? And he answered: I serve the kingdom and the king._

_The king smiled at last and rose, legs healed and whole. He embraced the king with delight for the sword was mended and in the king's hands where it belonged. When he realized his nakedness, he moved to step away but the king held his hands fast._

_The king said: You have spent yourself upon my floor, upon my kingdom, and upon me. Do you think this is for good or ill?_

_He hesitated, but said: I feel shame, yet I also feel joy._

_The anchor was again on his leg, the leather rope cutting into his skin. He cried out and tugged the binding. The king raised his sword to help, but it was no use. He stumbled back, tripping onto the throne, where the seat gave way to a black howling abyss. The green of the king's eyes watched in horror as he was whisked away, his ring-clad hand outstretched towards his own. The anchor continued to drag him, screaming, down into the dark, until he lost consciousness._

_When he woke, he was in a space of near-nothingness, white and soft and shining. He was still naked. Uneasy, he wondered if eyes may still be watching, judging him for his weakness. Then the ground trembled as heavy footsteps approached where he crouched. From nothingness came the Questing Beast, light on its cloven feet, long neck swaying. It spoke in the voice he recognized from their one and only previous meeting._

_It said: You will arrive soon to the wooded church of Albion's dove, where the stone devil and grim-faced ladies lie near the deathly tower. Your emissary from the heavens, bearing the little grey fish out of water, will give you a boon. A feather in your soul's cap._

_He was utterly bewildered, and said: Is this my quest? To find such a strange place, to beg gifts from a creature lower than even myself?_

_The Beast said: The quest is to resolve oneself._

Castiel whimpered to wakefulness, Dean shaking his shoulders. Upon seeing his eyes open, Dean relaxed slightly and he said, "Man, that must've been a doozy of a nightmare. You were talking in your sleep."

Blinking in the morning light, Cas asked, "What was I saying?"

"Damned if I know. Sounded like Enochian, whatever it was."

Startled, Castiel sat up from the bed, still tangled in the sheets warm from their bodies. He was naked and suddenly felt uncomfortable with that fact. But what on earth would he say to Dean about it? Tugging the sheet around his waist, he rubbed his hand over his face. "Enochian, the angelic language. I haven't been able to decipher that one in my studies yet. Bobby is getting frustrated with me."

"Yeah, it's complicated. Sounds like stoned Himalayan monks chanting," Dean chuckled, recalling how he'd said the exact same thing to the angel Castiel long ago. "Can't imagine trying to distance-learn that one." The hunter rose from the bed and grabbed his clothes. "Hitting the shower. You, ah, wanna join me?" Dean waggled his eyebrows in invitation, and a large part of Castiel wished to join him. They didn't often indulge outside of the bedroom since privacy at the duplex was marginal. Besides, they tended to use up most of the hot water when it took so much more time to get "clean" together, and that was frowned upon by their housemates. (Even though Sam had discovered he could manipulate the water heaters to fix that problem, he insisted it was still the principle of the thing.)

"No, I… I'm still very tired. Apparently I didn't sleep well," Castiel grunted regretfully. "I may lie down a bit longer." What he wouldn't tell Dean was that he was sticky with rapidly cooling, drying semen. The dream had brought him to actual climax, and the shame he felt in the dream was making its way into the waking world. Not good.

"Okay, suit yourself." Dean bent down, smacked a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth, then left the room.

The moment Dean was gone, Cas grabbed a handful of tissues and scrubbed at himself and the bedclothes to clean up what he could without being obvious by changing the sheets. Then he pushed himself against the headboard of the bed, curling his legs up, keeping the covers tight around his body. What the hell had he dreamed? The Beast's message was more complex than he'd hoped. Considering how succinct and even choppy the Beast's speech had been in the reality, he'd expected —insomuch as he'd truly believed the creature would contact him through a dream— something much simpler. Apparently, within his mind, it was eloquent and cryptic.

He knew part of the message must be about a location; figuring out where, though, would prove tricky. It was possible the Beast didn't truly know what to call the place so it substituted words however best it could, but the description was still extremely vague. He would be quite busy for a while, trying to decipher everything. Before he could forget all the details, he reached to the table on his side of the bed, retrieved his notebook, and began to scribble.

In remembering the anchor that pulled him into the blackness, he shuddered. He'd felt something similar in prior dreams and at least one vision. The sensation that his heart was being tugged from his chest, that the pull would somehow cause him to cease to exist, was disturbing to say the least. He'd had enough instances to make him worry there was an actual medical problem and had gone to Gail, but she heard nothing unusual through her stethoscope. She also suggested he go for testing, but Castiel was hesitant and swore her to secrecy unless he experienced it once more; she had frowned and sighed, naturally.

Castiel just barely finished sketching out the last moments of the dream when he heard the shower shut off. He quickly closed the notebook and set it back on the table. Settling down, he closed his eyes, determined to at least be on his way towards restful sleep by the time Dean rejoined him.

* * *

"Wooded church of Albion's dove? You sure about that?"

"Yes," Castiel said peevishly. "I wrote it down while it was still fresh in my mind."

Sam, Cas, Dean and Gail sat around the boys' kitchen table with post-breakfast coffee and tea while they discussed the dream's significance.

Sam was furiously typing away on his laptop, brow deeply furrowed, frustration at the lack of helpful search results evident. Gail's mouth was quirked up in silent amusement. Dean noticed as she not-so-discreetly pressed her leg against Sam's beneath the table, and bit his lip not to laugh as his brother jumped. From the flush spreading over Sam's cheeks, you'd think she'd groped him rather than engaged in PG-rated footsie.

Castiel sat to Dean's right, sipping his morning tea (he preferred it black and strong, and Dean couldn't understand why he didn't just drink coffee instead). They didn't play footsie, though Dean was tempted.

"Could Albion be, I don't know, an angel?" Gail inquired.

Shaking his head, Sam said, "Nah, I'd remember if it was. It's familiar though..." With a few more clicks, he grunted in triumph. "That's where I'd heard it. Albion is the oldest known name for what's now Great Britain."

"As in England?" Dean whipped his head towards Castiel. "It told you to go to _England_?"

Gail set down her cup of tea thoughtfully. "I don't know about that," she said, her words coming slowly. "That combined with 'stone devil, grim faced ladies and deathly tower' sounds really familiar to _me,_ and I've never been much of an Anglophile."

"Great. We've got a regular pair of gumshoes here. Don't worry Cas, we'll know where we need to go for any super-important monster quests any time now."

"Hey!" Sam's foot kicked out and clipped Dean in the shin. "Don't be a smartass just because you have nothing to contribute here. At least Gail's trying."

Dean stiffened; the words hurt more than his brother probably realized. A gentle hand came to rest on his forearm, and Dean turned to look right into Cas's eyes. "I do not think you're not trying, Dean."

Grumbling, Dean said, "Yeah, trying and actually _helping_ are two different things."

"Doesn't mean that one is appreciated more than the other," Cas said softly before giving his arm a gentle squeeze and pulling away.

Snapping her fingers (she'd clearly been lost in her own little world while he and Cas had their... moment or whatever) Gail said, "My girl's vacation!"

"Your what now?"

Gail smiled excitedly. "The vacation me and my girlfriends back in Boston took in college! We went to this place in Canada..." She jumped up and with a quick _Be right back_ rushed over to her side of the duplex. Only a few moments passed, while Dean grinned at Sam as if to say _Congrats, your lady friend is as nuts we are_ , before Gail burst back into the room, a large photo album tucked under one arm.

 _Vacation!_ , the album proclaimed in perfectly cut-out paper letters. Glitter and textured scraps of paper artistically surrounded a single picture on the cover, of a younger Gail and three other women all smiling manically for the camera.

"My dorm-mates," Gail explained, fingers tracing over the album's cover. "Lost track of them over these past few years." The doctor looked sad as she stared down at the happy, frozen faces, lost in some private memory.

Dean felt compelled to break her melancholy so he said with a smirk, " _Scrapbooking_ , doc? Really? Never pegged you as the type."

The distraction worked. With a shaky laugh, she opened the album to reveal loose photos and bits of cardstock sticking out from the first photograph sleeve. "I'm not," she said, waving a hand at the disorganization. "Thought I'd enjoy it, but obviously I didn't."

Flipping through the pages until she found some beautiful scenic shots (the few without a grinning girl in them), she pointed at various landmarks. "There! That rock formation is called the Devil's Woodpile."

Everyone's eyes bugged at the strange image. "What the hell—" Dean began.

Sam was already typing frantically into his laptop again, and read off, "It's a formation of columnar-jointed basalt and quartz monzonite towers exposed by wind erosion, originally formed by cooling lava—"

"Fascinating," Dean interrupted dryly, enduring a slight scowl from both his brother and Gail. "What does an admittedly freaky pile of rocks have to do with—"

Gail interrupted this time, leafing through more pages and more photos. "This is Ladyslipper Lake. And this mountain range – that's Grimface, the Matriarch, and Macabre Tower."

"What the hell," Dean repeated under his breath. "Who the fuck named these things?"

"Wow," Sam whispered. "Stone Devil. Grim-faced ladies. Deathly Tower."

Castiel gawked at the photos. It was beautiful, truly an example of nature at its most pristine. He felt a surge of longing to see it, to breathe the air, to stand upon the mountaintops and spread his arms wide and see if he could fly…

Shaking himself from the feeling, he asked, "Where in Canada is this located, Gail?"

"British Columbia."

Softly, Castiel said, "Columbia means 'dove' in Latin."

"Better still," Sam put in, "looks like the mountains and lake are all in Cathedral Provincial Park."

"The wooded church of Albion's dove," Gail nodded, with a smile of satisfaction at solving the puzzle. "That was kind of fun."

Dean barked a laugh. "Yeah, we just love riddles from mythical monsters."

"We have to go there," Castiel said, his voice distant, eyes unfocused. "There's something very important…"

"Yeah, I figured," Dean sighed. "Some kind of emissary from the heav—" He snapped his mouth shut. "Damn it."

"An angel?" Sam's spine went rigid.

Dean swallowed hard. The thought of another angel speaking directly to Cas… What the hell did 'grant a boon' even mean? Give Castiel back his wings and halo? _Take him back to heaven?_ Dean grit his teeth as his fingers tightened on his coffee mug, strained white.

"I doubt it," Castiel said quietly. "They've left me alone this long, why show up now? Especially with such foreshadowing. It's likely symbolic. The fish could symbolize anything, from the Holy Ghost to Jesus Christ. I doubt I'll be meeting _Him_ on a mountaintop."

There was a moment of tense silence, then Gail cleared her throat. "So you'll be needing equipment, clothes and supplies. I've still got most of my gear, my tent and so on. You can take what I have."

"Thank you, Gail," Cas said, gratefully, while Dean was still stuck on the idea that he was going to be going camping, again. Willingly, even. He secretly hated camping.

"This is gonna be pretty intense, you guys," Sam put in, "Dean, we've been through a lot of stuff, been a lot of places, but not into wilderness like this." He gave Gail a worried look, and she nodded in confirmation.

"I know how to hike, guys, I've done it more than once. Maybe I'd better go with," Gail said.

"We'll both come," Sam agreed.

"No." Castiel said, still quietly. "This is… it feels private. I can't take everyone."

"You're not going without me," Dean growled. "Not a chance."

"Of course not," Castiel's mouth quirked as he raised his eyes to Dean's. "There wouldn't be a quest without you."

* * *

The taillights of the Impala had barely vanished out of the drive when Gail turned to Sam.

"The house is ours for the weekend, at least. What do you want to do?" She took a step closer, smile flirtatious. "We could do just about anything, you know. Play loud music, order lots of pizza, leave all the lights on and bug the neighbors…"

"Uh..." Telling himself that technically he was millennium old, that nothing should surprise him anymore, didn't help. Sam still found himself fumbling for words and control of himself while facing Gail's not-so-subtle smirk.

She winked. "Why don't we start with dinner and see where things go from there?"

Sam nodded, head bopping up and down, a bobble-head. Sproing-sproing-sproing.

Gail reached up and tapped—actually tapped—the end of his nose. "C'mon, let's go to the kitchen. You can help me cook."

An hour or so later, they were sitting together on her sofa, watching television and sipping beers after a really nice dinner of lemon chicken and steamed veggies. They'd easily chatted while bumping hips and hands in the kitchen, but in the living room a silence that felt ripe with unspoken things had fallen.

"So," Gail started, breaking the still, "we've been sort of dating for about a month now, more or less."

"Uh, yeah just about," Sam agreed, wincing internally. Answering a rhetorical question—he really, really wondered why he was called the smart Winchester sometimes—was especially sad when he became all tongue-tied and awkward around a woman he honestly wanted to impress.

"It's been a really long time since I had... well, any sort of relationship," Gail continued, fiddling with the label on her beer bottle. "Haven't dated much since college, actually. I hardly have time away from the hospital, and believe me it's not worth trying to date your co-workers. Talking shop on a date…" She laughed softly. "Not very romantic. And that's not even getting into what happens if things don't work out."

Sam nodded. "I can't really relate because I've never dated any hunters, but I think I get it."

Smiling slightly, Gail said, "Don't stop me now, it gets better. I've only had one long term relationship, back in Boston, during my first year of residency. Steven was sweet and smart and funny... owned a bookstore. That's where I met him, actually." Her eyes glazed in a private memory, and Sam found himself growing jealous of a man he'd likely never meet, simply because of the soft look on Gail's face. "After we dated for about a year we moved in together. It was... nice, having someone to come home to."

Sam could understand that. It was one of his favorite things about living with Jess— even the days when she was stressed over exam or grumpy because he'd neglected a chore were sorta nice, because being around a crabby Jess was better than floating around their apartment alone. Yet another reason he'd left with Dean after her death; even had the place been repaired, he couldn't have been inside its walls without her.

Licking her lips, Gail continued, "By the time we'd been together for two years I was starting to get the idea we'd get married. I..." Gail took a deep breath, "mentioned that to Steven at breakfast one morning. And he said he'd been thinking that we were," she wiggled her fingers to quote, "growing apart." Her nose wrinkled as she a breath, as if she still didn't understand where her ex had come up with such an idea. "He said he didn't feel like we were really in a relationship anymore. That we were more like just roommates who had sex every once in a while. He just couldn't accept how important my work was to me. He thought my priority should be spending time with him."

As though fearing what Sam might interpret from this, Gail hastened to add, "I'm not saying Steven was clingy or anything. Or that I didn't _want_ to be around him." She sighed. "But I guess living with someone who he might not see every night of the week wasn't what he wanted." She took another drink before saying, "Of course I couldn't give him that. I was in residency, and hospitals are brutally demanding the first few years-you practically live there. We broke up. It took a long time before I dated again."

"I get that," Sam said softly. "Obviously I never had much time to date before college, being on the road constantly with dad and Dean. But at Stanford I had a girlfriend, Jessica. She was... amazing." Sam smiled as he remembered. "She was pre-med. I met her—" Sam hesitated, uncertain how to continue that sentence. Getting into the whole history of his so-called friend Brady and the pre-determined arrangement of his meeting Jess, how they'd monitored his whole life… That would have to wait. He settled for saying. "We moved into an apartment together a few months later, and were together about a year. I…" he paused and looked down at his own hands. "I bought a ring."

Gail frowned sympathetically, reaching for one of Sam's hands. "You've said that she died before you could…"

"Yeah," Sam responded quietly. "It took a while to care about anyone else. Frankly, I except for her... and now, you... I tend to make really bad choices in women. There was a girl I met on a case—her name was Madison—who was a werewolf I thought we'd cured. That... didn't end well." He swallowed hard; remembering how he'd failed Madison would never _not_ be painful. Continuing, Sam said with a tad of embarrassment, "And after _that_ there were some, um, one-nighters."

Gail, the awesome person that she was, didn't seem to judge him for that. They'd already discussed Dean's promiscuity and while she hadn't looked down on Dean for it, Sam knew it wasn't something she considered especially healthy.

"Anyway," he hurried along, "the, ah, the last real relationship was sort of… I guess the word 'disaster' covers it. She was a demon." Gail snorted in amusement. "No, I mean that literally, she was an actual demon." When Gail's eyes widened, Sam sighed, "I'll tell you the whole story later if you really want to hear it, but for now let's just say it-again, _literally_ -almost ended the world."

"Wow. I guess I should be glad I don't have to fight off a league of your exes for your affection." Gail paused. "I don't, do I?"

Sam chuckled. "Nope. Least, I don't think so. With my life..." Sam shrugged. "You never know."

That pulled a giggle out of Gail. She sobered quickly though and said, "So, the sort of woman you've been with since college has been a little… unusual. Is that, ah, something you prefer?"

She was definitely angling toward something. Sam cocked his head at her. "I really hadn't thought about it. Considering my life, trying to have a normal relationship was kind of pointless and possibly dangerous…" Sighing, he waved his hand toward the little box Gail now had on the hearth, which contained the hat of Bill the gnome. "You've seen how things will always follow me. Trying to protect another person from all that while keeping such a big part of my life a secret is asking for trouble."

"What if the other person knows already and doesn't expect to be protected?"

He quirked a smile at her. "I'm a protector by nature. My first instinct is to take down a threat and ask questions later."

"Hmm," she nodded. "So I've seen."

"I know you handled yourself really well with Bill, but... that was one time. Would you be able to handle it all day, possibly every day? What if things got bloody?"

Gail pointedly said, "I sort of do, Sam. I've saved lives numerous times, sometimes in emergency settings. I get dirty, sometimes downright physical. I cut into people's brains and put them back together again. Can't do that without getting bloody." She smiled with a gentle satisfaction. "And what I do isn't just helping people, even if that's a big part of it. I also like to figure out the puzzles. I take things apart to understand them. It took a while with you, since there were some pretty big secrets hiding the goodies inside. But I think I'm well on my way to having your number, Sam."

"Oh, really?" he asked, amused.

"Mm-hmm," she leaned closer. "I know that you want to protect people. That you've taken those strong hands and arms," her fingers trailed over the muscles, "and saved lives. That it makes you happy, in a visceral way. You're a warrior, though, not a soldier." Before he could say anything, Gail said, "Yes, there's a difference."

Sam's brow creased, realizing for the first time. "Yeah, I guess there is."

"And, like me, you also like working on puzzles. Your mind is sharp and deep, and you have uncanny empathy with total strangers. You've felt so much," her hands were working smoothly across his chest now, flexing over his heart, "that you practically burst with it all. You've seen and done more than most people will ever experience. You may only see the violence in what you and your brother do, but I see the beauty." Biting her lip, Gail said, "Some people wouldn't understand what it's like to follow your calling in life, Sam, but I do. The fact you're brave enough to follow yours, even though it's a bloody and painful path... that makes you amazing."

Sam flushed, but didn't stop her words or her touches. "You're no slouch either, doc."

Gail chuckled, "Hey, I remind you that I've cut open a few hundred people's skulls and I'm suddenly a badass, huh?"

Sam genuinely laughed. "When you put it that way… hell yeah." The arm he'd slid around her back was tightening, pulling her close.

Gail hummed in pleasure as his large hands began to massage her back. "You know what else you are? Remarkably gentle." She felt those hands ease up. "But I suspect you hold back with most people. Your height and physical strength intimidate most, and being gentle helps calm them. I do wonder though what you'd be like if you didn't have to worry about intimidating someone." Her eyes slid half-closed now as Gail regarded him with curiosity and desire. "What would happen if someone were to open you up and dig inside…"

Sam growled low in his throat. He was very close to losing control, and realized how hard he'd gotten in the last few minutes. He hoped she wasn't teasing.

Gail's hand had made its way across his chest and up his throat to his jaw. She regarded him with tender eyes and a sweet smile. "You really are one of the nicest guys I've ever known, Sam."

Oh, the nice guy speech. _Great_. Swallowing his sudden disappointment, the corner of Sam's lips twitched weakly as he started to pull away.

Gail had other ideas. She dug her fingers into his hair and yanked him forward into a rough kiss. When she pulled away, they were both flushed and panting.

"But I _really_ hope you'll be a little _less_ nice in bed." Her voice was low and breathy, and it inflamed Sam.

"Bedroom," Sam gasped, and Gail nodded.

"Good idea."

Somehow they made it the thirty feet from her couch to her bed, losing clothes along the way. Gail's clever surgeon's fingers had his shirt unbuttoned and belt unbuckled before they even crossed the threshold; by the time Sam's back hit the mattress, his jeans were pooled around his ankles, only held up by his shoes, and a cool hand was skirting under the elastic of his boxers.

There were no more words. Sam was surprised, pleasantly, that Gail didn't let him simply manhandle her. She writhed on top of him as she said in precise terms how she felt about his hands and his mouth and his cock.

A few hours later they were both spent and drifting in a daze of exhaustion. Sam supposed things with Gail would probably be complicated, but, he thought, worth it.

He'd never have taken the doctor for a biter. He just hoped some of the marks would be faded by the time Dean and Castiel came home.

* * *

Here they come, spraying gravel like a teenager behind the wheel, up the drive to Singer's house. Winchester tumbling out with those pouty lips and swagger. Angel's moving slower, more precision there. Sexy, slow strut. Hmm, the money that could be made off these two if one was clever with a camera...

Typical Dean, charging in the house without knocking. At least the angel's got an ounce of manners left, even after years in Winchester's company. Paused before following his man inside. Ain't that cute.

Can't get any closer now without detection, thanks to the new, souped-up wards the old coot put up after stepping in steaming piles of sulfur in the yards. Never thought there'd be a need for a hellhound pooper-scooper, but whattya know. Of course if he hadn't found those little presents, he'd have missed the fucking sloppy patches of daffodils in unlikely places. Like pretty much _everywhere._

So yeah, wards upped to nuke levels, and what it'd done to poor Spot really sucked. Poor puppy. But at least he'd managed to drop enough of those super-handy, frustratingly archaic surveillance coins, so keeping an ear, if not an actual eye, on the place was still possible.

…Now what the hell? Since when did Winchester ever take a trip without his precious Impala? And in a crap-ass silver Jeep, no less. Singer better have some protection built into that hunk of junk, because it looks like they're leaving all their weapons behind, too. Have they fucked out the last few remaining brain cells they had?

Damn. No getting back in the junkyard, so no bugging the new car. Great. They'll be entirely unguarded unless some damned fairy stows away in the trunk, and we might not even be still on the same team. Lady's not returning calls anymore and that really shouldn't be a surprise-the cold-blooded bitch's agenda was never clear anyway.

God damn it. There's just _no time_ to follow their dumb asses all over the place.

At least they're looking good. All that hot gay sex must be good for the soul. Even from this far away, it's easy to see Angel-cake's a regular GQ, and Dean-o's still got the hunter chic thing going on. Gotta admit it suits him, but the way they move _together..._ that's something else. Definitely in tune, like their hips are always gravitating toward each other. Must be _quite_ the sight between the sheets. Hmm, better stop thinking about that, can't get too distracted.

Oh, it's happening again. That's gotta feel unpleasant, poor little angel. Face all screwed up like he's just slammed back a badly-made Pisco Sour. Bet he's not even told Dean about the pain, dreams, and visions, or they'd be taking it a lot more seriously. Bobby-boy _might_ notice if he wasn't so busy dispensing fatherly advice. While he's babbling the rope's getting tighter. If we don't get this shit settled soon it's gonna yank angel-baby's pretty shiny soul right out.

Get the lead out, boys. Start shaking those asses instead of sitting around on 'em in that old codger's shack. Do they even need to have these conversations? It'll be the typical – _Thanks for the loaner, Bobby, you're the awesomest daddy figure ever. Now you boys be careful, blah blah. We're hunters, we can kill anything with our bare hands. Here, take this priceless magical bauble for protection, blah blah, now wash up for dinner, I've opened an industrial-sized can of beef stew for us, and some extra-strength Tums for dessert. Okay, but after that we gotta head out, super important road trip ahead, big quest thingie that'll probably fry my little angel's brain again._

Hit the _goddamned_ _road_ already…

Thank you! About damn time. Now where the hell are you going?

…. Canada? Fucking seriously? Camping. In Canada.

Oh, God, take me now. Even though it'll hurt like a motherfucker, just take me. Yeah, no rest for the wicked and all that, but no one deserves to be inflicted with _Canadians_.

* * *

Two days, chasing you dicks across the border, _having to drive most of it_ , in a goddamned _car_. Now the _park_ won't let me pass? What the _actual fuck_. Who'd have thought that a natural wonderland would be too natural for the _super_ natural to cross over, too inherently _holy_ for my demonically hot ass. Angel-cake went across the border just fine, but me? _Hell_ , pardon the pun, _no_.

There's no _time_ to stand by the gate and wait for you guys to come back out. Hell's on my ass _again_. The Boss knows something's up now; too many of his spies have vanished without a trace. It's not gonna be much longer before he figures me out.

Hope isn't my forte, but those boys better find something useful, something that gets them ready for the big day. Because it's coming soon.

And I can only play guardian demon for so long before the irony kills me.

 

* * *

 

**Early June**  


 

The ride into Cathedral Provincial Park had been distressing, to say the least. The transport truck was old and rattled dangerously, shaking everyone to the bone as it toiled over miles of loose rock, up the trail to the core of the park.

Castiel had lasted five miles before he tugged at Dean's sleeve in distress.

"Get me off this death trap," he'd whispered, his heart thudding.

With a gentle smirk Dean had walked to the front of the swaying vehicle and asked the driver to stop. The word 'vomit' might have had a hand in how quickly they pulled over, but Castiel didn't care. Pride was a small thing to give up in order to survive the journey. Walking the five miles they still had to travel – largely uphill – to reach their destination made Castiel rethink the 'exit bus to survive' plan, but by that point it was too late.

By the time they arrived at their reserved camping area, every muscle in Castiel's body ached, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse against a tree, but Dean was still up and moving around, cheerfully pitching their tent. So Cas sighed, pulled out their travel kettle, bowls, sporks and cups, and set the mini burner near the stone fire ring made for their area. As he was doing this, Dean announced he was going to trek over to the main compound for firewood. Cas saw he'd already managed to lay out their bedding and he was so very tempted to crawl inside and just crash.

Somehow Cas managed to scrape together dinner with water from their canteens and the dehydrated food in his pack. Dean returned with a bundle of cut logs as Cas was boiling more water for tea, calling out a saucy, "Heya, Sparky, wanna light my fire?" that had Cas rolling his eyes and fighting a smile. He turned to give a snappy retort, but teasing Dean for his terrible rock-song reference fell to the wayside in favor of watching the hunter in all his hiking-gear glory.

And glory it was. While Dean had foregone the type of cargo shorts Cas was wearing in favor of long pants (due to senseless modesty over his bowed legs), the gray tee he wore clung tightly across his broad shoulders. A green plaid long-sleeved shirt was tied around his waist, accentuating his body's natural narrowing taper. There was a bit of softness around his belly that Cas knew Dean was sensitive about (but that roundness made Castiel think of nights spent contentedly nuzzling and nipping at the sparse hair dusted there). Sunlight struck Dean's hair so that the natural golden tones showed brightly, creating an almost halo effect around his head; Cas fought another smile, thinking of Dean's reaction to being compared to an angel. He focused instead on the new freckles the sunshine had made blossom, growing from a smattering across his nose to slather across Dean's cheeks and the hollow between his chin and full lower lip. It was all very distracting. Castiel sat still, staring at the beautiful man approaching the campsite, and wondering if he could somehow convince himself he really _wasn't_ too tired for sex…

Dean must have taken Castiel's distraction for despondency. After he dropped off the wood in the stone ring, he rubbed a warm hand across Cas's shoulder, brow wrinkled in concern.

"Hey... I know you were hoping we'd have time to explore before nightfall, but we have all day tomorrow." Dean smiled, reassuring.

If that had been what troubled Castiel, Dean's words might have helped. But the dream from last week, the lust he'd felt toward the king still lingered on the periphery of his thoughts, tantalizing and frustrating all at once. Dean was beside him now, a delicious sheen of sweat covering his freshly bronzed body, Castiel was half-hard in his shorts, aching for Dean's hand to move from rubbing his shoulders to parts lower… and yet Cas was too exhausted from the day's hike to seriously suggest it. Cas barely restrained a churlish whine when Dean moved away after spotting the cup of rehydrated chili and package of crackers Castiel had set out. But Dean's blinding smile and heartfelt "You made dinner already? Awesome, man," somehow made up for it.

Soon, with a little effort from them both, their fire was burning strongly enough to enjoy. Dean and Cas sat side by side, eating in companionable silence. Although they were in a fairly public camping area, there seemed to be only one other pair of campers within eyesight, far across the clearing nearer to the small lake. This site was less popular than the large communal one near the lodge; it was the quiet they'd wanted anyway. With night falling, Castiel found he could easily lean against Dean's side without any hesitance on Dean's part. The hunter still wasn't comfortable with public displays of affection (might never be). Castiel didn't quite get it but he didn't pressure Dean, and instead chose to relish quiet moments like these.

The scent of Dean mixed with the warm smokiness of the fire was very nearly driving Castiel crazy. He was barely resisting the urge to bury his nose in Dean's neck, to take a deep breath of salty, musky maleness, or to lick a long stripe of skin clean with his tongue… when he was roused from his thoughts by Dean's voice.

"I think it's about time for dessert, don't you?"

"Dessert?"

Dean stood and stretched his back out with a loud crack, groaning in satisfaction. Castiel gave an internal sigh, thinking it was probably best that Dean moved away, before Cas found out firsthand if it was possible to die of combined exhaustion and sexual frustration.

"C'mon, Cas. You didn't think we'd go camping and not have s'mores, did you?"

Despite Dean's enthusiastic suggestion when they'd first moved into the duplex, they'd never made s'mores in their fireplace. And to not make them on a camping trip, would be, he'd said _'downright un-American, and don't give me crap about it being in Canada, doesn't count'_.

Dean walked Cas through the procedure with carefully split graham crackers, in even piles on a thin plastic plate, and squares of chocolate. He explained the importance of using exactly three squares, saying that two didn't give enough 'melty goodness' and four 'just made a god-damned mess'. Despite being in the protection of Dean's backpack, the chocolate was soft and stuck to Castiel's fingers. Absently, he licked a large smear from his palm only to look up and see Dean's eyes fixed on him, pupils dilated, breath short.

After that, Castiel innocently looked away to lick and suck at the rest of his fingers, chocolate-covered or not. Dean made a noise in the back of his throat, but didn't call Cas on his actions. Instead, he speared a few marshmallows onto thin metal spears and shoved one at Cas, muttering gruffly, "Gotta show you how to roast 'em." It sounded more as though he was trying to remind himself.

What followed was a long, rambling demonstration on _How to Roast a Perfect Marshmallow, According to Dean Winchester_. Castiel watched, nodded in all the proper spots, and accepted the Perfectly Roasted Marshmallow when it was done with all the solemnity such a gift required. He ate it slowly, fascinated by the lightly browned surface, the way the center was gooey but not runny.

"Like it?" Cas grunted his approval and Dean laughed. "Okay, your turn. Show me your stuff."

With his mouth set in a determined moue, Castiel speared another marshmallow and held it at the approximate point in the flames Dean had demonstrated, turning it carefully. When it appeared to be sufficiently browned, he withdrew it, then quickly pulled it off the stick and pressed it between the layers of chocolate and graham cracker. This, he then picked up and presented to Dean.

"No, man, it's your first s'more! You should eat it."

"It is, as you said, my first," Castiel acknowledged. "So how will I know if I've done it properly? Please, tell me what you think."

When Dean's lips curled around that first bite and gave an _hmmm_ of approval, Castiel felt a fresh, sharp stab of desire low in his belly. He understood Dean's insistence that he try this dessert now; it wasn't one that could be eaten delicately, but required most of one's attention and enthusiasm. So invested in watching Dean, Castiel didn't realize his second marshmallow catch on fire until the other man's eyes widened, hands gesturing wildly at the flames.

"Shit!" Cas exclaimed, jerking the stick out, blowing out the flames while Dean howled in laughter.

"Dude, you have to eat it now," Dean gasped. "Those are the rules."

"Really?" Castiel challenged, eyes narrowed. "Since when?"

"Since forever," Dean insisted. "I'm pretty sure wasting marshmallows is a sin."

Snorting in amusement, Castiel pulled the blackened blob off his stick and popped it, whole, into his mouth. Dean began making exaggerated gagging noises, but Cas slowed his chewing and thoughtfully rolled the marshmallow across his tongue. There was something about the burnt texture and ooze of the center…

"Dean," he said very seriously, "I believe you were wrong. Burnt marshmallows are not disgusting; they're delicious."

Dean gaped at him, then shook his head emphatically. "No way. They're gross."

"How long has it been since you tried one? Have you _ever_ tried one?"

"It's been... well... years, I guess, but I know I won't like it because..."

At Dean's admission, Castiel grinned smugly, grabbed Dean's shirt collar and pulled him close. "Try a taste," he encouraged, pressing their mouths together. Dean's lips parted, likely in protest, but Cas took advantage anyways and slid his tongue alongside Dean's, sharing the lingering flavor. The other man stiffened and allowed the kiss but did not reciprocate. Castiel pulled away, biting back the urge to frown.

"What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, an unreadable expression flickered across Dean's face as he turned away. "Nothing. Just... _blegh_."

Castiel felt uneasy with this answer, and he didn't know what to do. Reaching for the chocolate, he broke off a chunk then leaned against Dean, holding up the piece with raised brows. Dean opened his mouth to accept it, and closed his lips before Castiel had fully withdrawn his fingers, sending a sent a shiver through Castiel's body. This time, when Cas kissed him, Dean went willingly.

"Better?" Castiel asked when they finally broke apart, and Dean nodded. "Good," he whispered, pressing a relatively chaste kiss to the side of Dean lips. "Wouldn't want you to suffer with an unpleasant taste in your mouth," he teased in a low drowsy voice.

He was already worn out from the day's hike and now he was getting truly tired, the way he always did after indulging in too many sweets. Marshmallows were nothing but puffy balls of sugar, so it was hitting him hard. As his eyelids drooped lower, Dean chuckled, "Get in the sleeping bag, Cas. I'll pick up."

Castiel simply nodded and rose on unsteady feet. He crawled inside and fell into a dozing state until Dean nestled in beside him, and then he only stirred enough to wrap an arm and sling a leg around him.

"Man, you're wrecked," Dean observed, sounding slightly amused. Castiel made a noise of agreement, and then fell asleep.

* * *

_The taste of ash and blood was thick on his tongue, and he wasn't sure whether to be glad he even still had his tongue. He didn't know if the blood was his own or that of the bodies writhing and moaning around him. His flesh was burning, from cold, from fire, burning up from their clinging hands, fingers digging into every part of him. Pulling out pleasure and pain in equal measure._

_He was blood. He was ashes. He was being devoured by sour mouths filled with poisonous teeth. He was clumps of charred gooey flesh and brittle bone._

_Whimpering in pain, he reached toward… anything… and was wrapped in softness, glowing and warm…_

_Grace wrapped around him, was inside him, pulsing. It licked every molecule of his soul and body, causing him to shake and moan. He was being taken apart atom by atom. But not in pain, not for torture. Each cell was fondled adoringly. He groaned pitifully with want. As mind-blowingly awesome as the grace felt against his soul, he craved touch. Physical touch, with hands and mouth and cock. He reached for the angel caressing him so intimately and pulled him close._

_The press of body to body made him shudder with impossibly increased desire. The angel's mouth was open and accepting, so his tongue dove inside, lapping at the mixture of human and ethereal. His lover begged and throbbed as absolute control over grace was lost. It burst forth, filling his mouth with light, warmth, love. A thundering in his ears, his blood moving heady and thick through him as his body pounded toward—_

Dean stirred awake just before his dream became truly wet. He was so close to the peak it was painful, but it tumbled backward, and he groaned sleepily.

He was answered by another moan against his ear and a hot, puffed breath on the side of his neck. Instinct made him turn that direction and seek the mouth it came from. Familiar lips slid across his own, wet and warm. The kiss was slow, deep, and dreamy.

Dean felt fingers trail under his t-shirt to graze across a nipple. His responding grunt made those fingers curl, nails scratching until the nipple peaked. Grasping the body that pressed against his side, he tugged until it was mostly atop his own, pressing hot and hard from chest to thigh, legs tangling together. Kisses moved from mouths to chins to necks, licking and sucking.

The wonderful dream came to an end when the words "Dean, yes, _please_ " were breathed against his throat. He knew the voice. It was the right voice. The wrong person. Dean froze, which made the other person go still then rise up away from him.

"Dean?" Castiel whispered, "What's wrong?"

Dean rumbled, "This… I can't. Not... not right now."

Even in the near darkness, the confusion was obvious on Cas's face. Castiel shifted against him, his hardness met with Dean's own. "Why?" Cas whispered.

Of course, ask the hard question. Dean's brain struggled to come up with an answer that made any sense. There was a reason, in the back of his mind, nudging for his attention but it was weak under the influence of arousal. Instead, Dean just said lamely, "You… it's just, I was dreaming but… what if someone hears us?"

"I don't care if you don't." Castiel's voice was low and seductive.

And, okay, yeah, as much as he wasn't really into exhibitionist sex, hearing Cas say that was actually hot. Struggling for a new reason as Castiel began suckling on his neck, he said, "But we don't even have any… _anything_ , you know?"

It was a lame excuse, and Dean knew it, but how could he explain to his... for all intents and purposes his _boyfriend_... that he'd been dreaming of the past. The angel, instead of the man, and how because of that he now felt like his touch was... soiling Cas, somehow. It was ridiculous —they'd gone as far as possible with their physical relationship already —but here, in their tiny tent on what felt like the edge of the world, with the sense memory of the angel Castiel's first tentative touch of grace to soul...

"I do," Castiel breathed, "I do, Dean." Cas fumbled with his backpack, found what he wanted, and pressed it into Dean's hand.

Dean's brain couldn't find an immediate recognition for the small bottle he held, but the square foil package was something he'd recognize even comatose.

With a groan, he struggled once more for a legitimate reason to stop. Cas had already shucked naked from the waist down, and was tugging Dean's pants down to bunch around his ankles. A hot hand cupped his balls. The pair of resulting groans made any argument impossible.

Cas scrambled up and straddled Dean's hips, grinding their groins together. Dean still held the lube, though the condom had dropped somewhere. Oh, well, frotting was awesome. He popped open the bottle and quickly dribbled way too much lube over their cocks, soaking his own stomach in the process. Cas tucked his knees tight against Dean and twisted his hips insistently, until they grasped each other, interlocking their hands. Then it was all hot wet groping fingers thrusting hips sloppy and clumsy and fantastic. Mouths slid together, sharing gasps and murmured nonsense. Their clothes were still half on and the tent was like a sauna. They sweated and writhed, Cas begging Dean without words beyond saying his name over and over.

Castiel gasped, his voice hitching, broken, and ending with a croak that sounded pained as his body convulsed and he spilled over Dean's stomach. He twisted slightly aside, pulling back enough that his softening cock slipped free of their grasps.

Dean tightened the grip, kept pumping between their joined hands. Cas's free hand reached to cup Dean's balls again, making him grunt in pleasure. But it moved further, back, down, and lube-slick fingers dipped into Dean's cleft. Dean tensed, but Castiel was stroking his cock with the other hand, distracting him, as a finger teased over his hole. When all Dean did was groan in response, Cas swirled around the resistant entry before gently pushing forward.

Dean had been so close to orgasm, but the sensation of Cas's fingertip nearly halted it. There was pleasure still, but not as desperate as a moment earlier… until Cas began moving that finger in and out of him. It burned when Cas unexpectedly added a second finger – _fuck_ , it burned – but being stretched, filled… seeing, even in the darkness, the loving possession splashed across Castiel's face as he took Dean apart… made the pain worth it. Cas was crooking those fingers, bumping inside just the right way, and suddenly Dean was surging over the edge, spurting across his already sticky stomach. Trembling and gasping for breath, he barely felt Cas ease those fingers from his ass, and hardly moved when Cas all but collapsed on top of him.

They lay panting heavily for a long minute while Dean's brain tried to decide if any of it had been real. When Castiel whispered his name huskily and laid a moist, gentle kiss on his jaw, Dean jolted. _Oh fuck._

Dean gently nudged until Cas moved off to the side. Then he sat up, slipped off his soaking t-shirt and wiped his hands and stomach clean. He swiped at Cas to get the rest of the mess then tossed the shirt aside. Shuddering, he tugged his pants up and slipped from the tent to sit near the fire ring, now cold, his head in his hands.

A few moments passed, and Castiel leaned from the tent and murmured Dean's name again. When Dean didn't respond, he crawled forward and regarded the man with a furrowed brow. His face was barely lit by the glow of the moon through the trees, but Dean could see the steely edge, the clenched jaw, and his stomach plummeted.

"Dean," Cas said again, slightly louder, "what's wrong?"

Dean swallowed hard, then rasped. " _This_ ," he gestured at the both of them, "is what's wrong."

He gave no specifics, but Dean could practically hear Cas's thoughts: _Dean didn't like it, I shouldn't have pushed for that, now_ _Dean doesn't want me anymore_. Watching Cas huddle up, arms around his knees, dropping his eyes before whispering _oh_ hurt more than the confusion suddenly rattling around Dean's skull.

He was a selfish asshole, and Dean knew he shouldn't be doing this to Cas, not after so many months together. But memories of Hell had been unexpectedly stirred earlier because of a simple burned marshmallow – which of course, he hadn't mentioned to Cas – and then the goddamned dream of himself, burning… That, coupled with the phantom touch of Castiel moving inside him and with the dream of Castiel's first angelgasm, he was left feeling raw and exposed and so very human.

"No, I don't mean… we just..." Sighing with frustration at his remarkable lack of tactful wording, Dean said, "Before, you… you wouldn't have wanted to do that. It wouldn't have even occurred to you that it could be something you'd want."

Looking honestly puzzled now, Castiel raised his eyes and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The person you were." Dean knew he was on shaky ground now, but couldn't stop himself. "When you were… the old Cas. He wouldn't have… we didn't. Because he wasn't like that."

Castiel flinched as Dean wondered at his own stupidity. _The Old Cas._ Which made the guy sitting in front of him, what, the _New Cas?_ Not the same, not _right_ or something, maybe not what Dean really wanted? It wasn't what he meant to say, not even close, but when Cas gave the smallest quivering sigh, Dean knew just how badly he'd screwed up.

"I see," Castiel said, so quietly Dean barely heard it.

Dean scrunched up his face so hard it hurt. _What the fuck was wrong with him?_ So what if this wasn't exactly the same old Castiel? It was different but it was hardly awful. Yet the argument – _Was it really Cas? Is there something under the surface that might turn out wrong? Cas fooled us once already, even before he died_ – had been stewing on and on in the very back of his brain, since the day Castiel had returned. Because there were differences, important ones, that Dean wasn't sure he could ever ignore.

"How long, exactly," Cas said, in the deceptively calm way that meant he was well and truly pissed, "have you been settling for who I _am_ because of what I _was_?"

"That's not what I meant, Cas." Dean wanted to slam his own head against the nearest rock then crawl under it. Things were all going very wrong.

"Really? Well excuse me for drawing my own conclusions, Dean, but what else am I supposed to think when you drop something like that on me? It's not as if you actually ever tell me what's wrong—I have to infer everything from what scraps you _do_ give me, and your behavior."

"You never _needed_ me to say a word before! You just... _knew_!" Dean tried to bite back the words the instant they were out, but it was like watching himself from outside his body, powerless to stop the oncoming train wreck.

"I will never be that angel again, Dean," Castiel said. "While it's true I'm remembering more every day, I thought you had come to terms with the fact that going back to what I was —even if I remember _everything_ tomorrow— is impossible."

"Cas-"

" _Impossible_ , Dean. I am not the angel that pulled you out of Hell. He is gone and never will be again." Castiel had stood to tower over him, very much like the imposing figure who'd threatened to throw him back in the Pit. "He is _dead_."

"Don't you say that," Dean said, panic rising up to crush the air from his chest.

"Dead," Castiel repeated, pressing himself into Dean's personal space, snarling. "I am all that is left now."

"Cas, stop," Dean said. It was all too much, Castiel was too close. The memories of hell and the angel's grace and what they'd just done in the tent mixed together to create a miasma of self-loathing that threatened to drown Dean. He tried to turn away but Cas gripped his chin and forced him to meet his gaze. Dean panicked.

Jerking from Castiel's hand, he shoved the other man away. Cas fell to the dirt with a loud _unf_ _!,_ and lay sprawled on the ground, staring at Dean. Just _staring_. Right into Dean.

And Dean found himself speaking without planning his words, unable to hold back the thoughts brewing for so long.

"In Hell, I wasn't always on the rack." Dean muttered, miserably, pulling his knees close and barely resisting the urge to bury his face in his arms. "Yeah, I was there more often than I wasn't, and it was horrible. When Alistair wasn't cutting into me, he would pass me around and-" Dean stopped, took a deep breath. "But it was worse in the cell, because then… I was alone." With a bitter laugh he said, "Isn't that sick? That I preferred when Alastair—when he—because it meant I wasn't locked in the dark, by myself."

Castiel's continued silence was the only reason Dean kept talking. "That's what you saved me from, Cas. My mom used to tell me that angels watched over me. After you pulled me out, after the first time I properly met you and you told me what you were... yeah, I had nightmares of hell, of being tortured and forced and participating, but... I never dreamed of that tiny black cell. Because deep down, I knew the angel Castiel was watching over me. And even if he was a dick with wings, I wasn't _alone_. Never _alone_. Then you—you died, you were _gone_ and—"

"Dean-" Castiel began to reach for him again, a strange tone in his voice, but the hunter drew away.

"I'm done," Dean said wearily. "I'm just... I'm gonna go back to sleep." He rose on unsteady feet and tripped towards their tent. When Castiel didn't make a move to join him, Dean zipped up behind him before crawling into the sleeping bag that vaguely had that new-product smell but now mostly reeked of sex.

Dean lay awake, his brain muddled, for what felt like hours. Eventually the tent opened and Cas rustled around until he was in the sleeping bag as well. Cas's body was chilled through but he stubbornly refused to curl close to Dean's warmth. So, separated by a few inches that felt like a chasm, they turned from one another and fell into fitful sleep.

* * *

 

Returning from the small lake where he'd refilled their water bladders, Castiel's mind was turning over and over what had happened in the night.

He'd left before Dean woke and hoped to have an opportunity to talk while the other man was still sleepy, but when he got back to the camp area, Dean had already packed nearly everything, including the tent.

Dean was folding the last few things and didn't look up at Cas. "Ready to go?" he asked brusquely, fastening the bag's closure.

Castiel lowered his head and nodded before reaching into his backpack and pulling out two packets of mixed dried fruit and nuts. It would apparently have to do for breakfast right now. He wordlessly pressed one into Dean's hands and tore open the other for himself. Grunting in acknowledgement, Dean stood and shouldered his own bag before allowing Castiel to lead the way.

The beauty of the day felt almost perverse considering the blackness of Castiel's mood. At the beginning, the rustling of plastic wrapping as Cas picked out the lightly sugared pineapple, dehydrated apricots and almonds—his favorites in this mix—distracted him from the near-silence that surrounded them.

They trekked carefully up the marked trail, winding through short grass and rocks toward the mountain ridges that bore the fateful names from Castiel's dream. They passed scenery that poets and painters would have treasured. They passed by a herd of wild goats grazing near steep cliffs of bare stone. There were patches of snow still at the foot of the rocks, and though the air was chilly the bright sun dispelled much of the cold.

As their walk continued on, they lapsed further into the quiet, and Cas was disinclined to break it. He thought back—as he had been since it'd happened—on Dean's reaction after their lovemaking in the tent. His intention had been to show his lover the same pleasure Dean had given him, but it'd had the opposite effect. The thought pained him deeply, and made him wonder if he'd done something irreparable to their relationship.

After roughly an hour they reached Ladyslipper Lake. It was surrounded by both evergreens and enormous tumbled stones from the nearby mountains. The water was as clear as ice, reflecting a brilliantly blue sky. In the distance was the ridge of mountains he'd been directed to find. They were imposing, bleak and sharp, capped with snow. Suddenly Castiel worried that he would actually have to scale them.

But now he felt a sudden almost sharp tugging deep inside. His steps faltered briefly, unsure. This wasn't what he'd expected, that gut wrenching sensation of being pulled toward the empty blackness and the terror he was sure lay within. He wondered if he was walking to his doom now.

No, it wasn't the same feeling. This was simply nudging him to walk in a different direction, to skirt the lake and leave the marked trail. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

He could hear Dean curse lightly but follow along, not quite on Cas's heels. The terrain was very rough now with huge stones the size of the Impala and larger surrounding them, and they both had to be cautious where they stepped. Smaller rocks jarred their feet through their boots, and went scattering down the hillside toward the trees and the lake. Just as he was wondering what on earth he was doing – and listening with half an ear to Dean's complaints – Castiel stopped to stare back at the lake. It glimmered like a diamond mirror.

A shadow streaked across the glassy surface. High above was a bird of prey, and Castiel squinted up at the bright sky to see the dark outline of enormous wings.

The bird circled the lake once, then made a rapid descent, skimming the surface of the water and suddenly striking out with both feet, snapping up a fish. Soaring upward again, it made a half-circuit in the air. Then aimed straight for the rocks where Castiel stood.

Landing atop a huge boulder, the fish in its claws flopped wetly against the stone as the bird began to eat, tearing flesh away, sharp beak turning red with gore. It seemed entirely unconcerned with the presence of two humans less than ten yards from its perch.

Mesmerized, heart thudding in awe, Castiel approached the beautiful creature slowly. From the educational programming he and Sam (and occasionally Dean, though he'd never admit it) enjoyed watching, Cas knew it was an osprey. It was far larger than he'd expected, white-bodied and dark-winged.

Cas came within five yards of the stone before the bird raised its tufted head and turned burning golden eyes upon him. Castiel froze, staring back. They were very nearly at eye level with one another now.

The tilt of the osprey's head seemed to question him. Cas fancied he could hear it ask if he was prepared for answers. He nodded slowly as he stepped a few feet closer, raising his hands palms up.

The bird's gaze was a physical thing, like daggers pointed straight into Castiel's heart, which thumped hard as, legs trembling, he moved closer still. When he was very near, possibly no more than ten feet from the creature, Cas realized how incredibly foolish creeping toward a wild animal could be. Extremely dangerous looking talons were curled around the slaughtered fish, flecked bright red and white with blood and minute pieces of bone.

The bird, though, wasn't moving. Instead it watched the former angel's approach with, if Castiel was the sort to anthropomorphize animals, he would have called detached yet somehow affectionate amusement. He half expected human words to fall out of its beak in a sharply chiding, loving tone.

But one more step and the osprey reacted at last. A little screech, and the avian spread its wings spread wide in a threatening posture. They were dark-streaked as night, at least six feet wide, quivering with barely controlled power. Beating the air several times, the wind created by those wings buffeted Castiel's body and rocked him on his feet, but he didn't back away.

The osprey's wings stopped fluttering but didn't settle against its body. Its mouth was open and panting as it began to shift around on its perch. Then it crouched, and in one powerful surge launched itself into the sky, taking the remains of the fish with it.

Castiel stared, hypnotized by the restrained power in the bird's movements. With a final cry and strong, purposeful flapping, the osprey flew away. A single dark feather pulled free and floated downward, wafting directly into Castiel's hands.

Fingers spasming, Castiel's hands automatically cupped around the offered gift. He held his breath until the first brush of softness against his palms, and then his vision exploded in rapidly flashing colors.

_Speeding down a tunnel of stars. I am comprised of their dust. Burning gasses are my eyes and my wings are comets. I am clothed in the remnants of galaxies lost and forgotten. When I breathe I exhale the glow of the sun, a light wave of power and grace and glory._

_I am layers upon layers of folded steel, sharp and strong. I am Damascene, forged with techniques lost almost as soon as they were discovered. Heat, certainly, and water both. I am sharp edged, unbreakable, capable of splitting a human hair or cutting flesh and bone cleanly through. I am a weapon and, insomuch as I am able, I am pleased by this._

_I am a gemstone, rock crystallized under pressure then sculpted into perfection. Deep in every pocket of my faceted being is woven the Word. The Word is Law, and thus so am I. Diamond sharp and clear, my conviction is absolute._

_I hear always the voices of my brethren in my mind. We are radiant, beautiful. Each a unique jewel upon a crown fashioned from ozone and forged by lightning. We are one and yet many. I am flawless, endless, and obedient._

_We all watch as the earth is formed. Father's first sentient creatures-Leviathan, Behemoth, Ziz, Lilith –were already banished to worlds created explicitly to imprison them. We are His second attempt, the balm to His loneliness when they turned from Him. For all of our precious shine, stardust and steel, Words and gemstones are cold comfort. Once we are formed He starts again, the lure of creation addictive._

_Humanity is His finest work. Our task becomes watching and honoring our Father through acts towards them. Lucifer is cast down, caged, because he sees their fragile beauty as weakness rather than echoes of glory. The crown is broken; for the first time we cry in fear._

_Michael commands in the name of our Father, and I do not disobey._

_Watching and waiting, heaven is everywhere and yet so far away. We know there is something we wait for...the End… when it comes we will fight again. There are those that hunger for it with the same fervor as Father once hungered for love. Centuries pass. Millennium. Still we march onward, soldiers all, voices blended in triumphant song._

_Then, the unthinkable—the Righteous Man lies in Hell. I am blessed. My duty is to find and rebuild him. I do not mean to mark him, but the call of his soul is too strong for me to resist. One glance upon it and for the first time I know desire for something beyond obedience. They will surely punish… but they do not. My duty then becomes watching him from earth, barely a hardship. Finding my vessel and pouring the endless mass of myself into a small body of blood, bones and organs should confine but inside is stretched far and wide. The faith in his soul makes him a perfect fit. I must protect him from harm, a private and thus foreign secondary duty._

"Cas, c'mon man. Cas-!"

_Obey, question, feel… betrayed. The once unthinkable—I disobey, fall. Fall for love, in love. Bleed and die, punished. Rise! Fight, kill-fear confusion hurt- love, pain, die. Return, the glory of the choir as much a punishment as a blessing. Searching. Forgive me, Father. Gone. Want, love, anger. Fear, bleed, love. Hungry, weak, love. The greatest of these things is._

_Hope, crushed. Abandoned, weary. Pain-anger-sick-hate. Love is all I need but it is denied to me at every turn. Fight to kill. Fury, betrayed. Desperate love, hopeless pain. What is and what can never be. Banish and return, hurt. Foreign hunger and thirst. Graceless pain. Hopeless and now useless, will still fight. Must protect love. Anguish, heat, death._

_Leave._

_Fleeing from words better left unspoken pressing against my tongue only to fight brothers, lose brothers, kill brothers. Torture myself, torture others with an unnecessarily necessary war. Untruths taste bitter on my tongue, but no more so than when I lie to those with whom I'd spend all my moments if I could._

_Desire is still terrifying._

_Risk all, fail. Risk all, fail again. Third times are truly charmed. Desperate truth, love, reckless abandon. Feeling all, giving all._

"Castiel, _please_."

_I used to be the ocean. Now I am the little gray fish. Out of the water, and thrashing on the shore._

Castiel's body gave a huge spasm and he opened his eyes. He was looking up into the sky, lying on his back among stones. He gasped, clutching the feather to his chest.

Dean was there. Cas suspected he'd been there all along, holding his arms while he seized on the ground.

"Cas, you with me, man?" Dean asked, voice trembling.

"Yes," Cas whispered. "Yes, I... I felt... what it was, to be an angel... I remember."

* * *

Dean had stolen up silently behind Castiel, though keeping a distance. He was struck speechless at any rate, watching the former angel approach a wild and dangerous creature with such ease. And the bird itself seemed to be aware of the importance of the situation, playing its part in the quest willingly.

And then it had risen up, opened it wings, huge things, partly shining white, mostly nearly black. Damned near as wide as Castiel was tall. From Dean's vantage point behind Cas, it had looked… honestly, looked for all the world like those wings belonged to Castiel himself. For one moment, he was looking at an angel again.

Flashing in his mind was a barn painted with symbols, sparking lights, a deceptively small man in a trenchcoat with shadows of wings that filled the room. His chest had constricted in one part fear, one part awe, and he'd dreamed those wings countless times over the years. Then his mind flashed to smashing through a window from another world, landing in a darkened hotel parking lot, probably still in Canada. Two angels ready to kill one another, then a third thrumming with power, lights cracking all around as the shadow wings were nearly tangible in the air. Huge and intimidating, and sexy as hell. Even then Dean had felt the pull of desire for the angel, no matter how bad things had gotten between them.

Castiel wouldn't be that angel again, he did know it. But seeing the wings, seeing Cas remembering… Dean wished, just a little bit, that he could recover himself completely.

Then Castiel was falling to the ground, and Dean rushed forward to catch him before he cracked his skull open on the bare rocks. Gripping Cas tight, Dean held him up with arms around his waist.

"Cas, you with me, man?" Dean's voice trembled.

"Yes," Cas whispered. "Yes, I…" He swallowed hard, twice. "I felt… what it was, to be an angel… I remember… I know it completely now…" He closed his eyes, and for a moment it looked as though he would cry. "Dean… I'm sorry I can't be that way again. I'm sorry you won't have the angel back in your life…"

"No, Cas, it's—"

"And I'm sorry for myself," he continued. "Because… nothing can compare to it. The power, the knowledge, the connection to heaven and my brothers… the feeling of grace, swelling inside me…" Now he did nearly sob.

Dean stroked Cas's back soothingly. "Yeah, you belonged to a much better club, you said once. In a reality that I hope we never see…" He sighed gustily. "But Cas, you _can_ compare the two things. Humans have power, too. We can create and destroy, and love and hate, and change the whole world when we really want to. And knowledge? Look at the brains on my brother, for starters. Maybe there's not just one single person with all the knowledge of the universe, but between all of us, I'll bet it just about adds up. And connection…" He leaned forward and put his lips behind Cas's ear. "We connect. Cas, that's never happened to me before. I hope it's been that way for you too…"

Castiel sighed shakily, and turned his head partly in Dean's direction. Their lips were close when he said, "Yes, it has." They looked into one another's eyes for a long moment, seeing the bond for everything that it was. And the kiss that followed expressed that bond.

"As for grace," Dean breathed against Cas's lips when they finally broke free, "we have souls, both of us. And I'll tell you this – we once touched grace to soul, and that was mind-blowing, and yeah, I'd totally do it again if it was possible. But what we do together now, that's… Cas, you know how awesome it is." Dean grinned with gentle lechery. "Believe me, it's the best I've ever had, bar none."

Closing his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in, he realized Dean was right. Life was different; it was terrestrial and not celestial. But it was still, sometimes, divine. And precious and frustrating and a million other little things, and many of them were present in his angelic life as well. He needed to remember that, no matter what form he was stuck in, he was still Castiel. Dean believed it.

"So," Dean whispered, "did you get what you needed here? Can we go home now?"

Castiel nodded, and stood up with Dean's help. He still clutched the brown-black feather. "I think this is as much as I will ever have of my old self. And I suppose that's good enough." He smiled gently, and Dean took the feather from his fingers, opened a pocket of Castiel's backpack and slipped it inside. "I don't think it's legal for me to keep this, Dean. There are regulations—"

"Don't care. We're Winchesters, the law doesn't hold us back from what's important." Dean grinned, suddenly shy, realizing he'd just included Castiel into the family in a much more direct way. Realizing as well that they were in a country where they could actually make that legal made his pulse trip, and he nearly panicked. But remembering what he'd just said – about laws meaning jack – he shook it off. "We'll figure a way to sneak it back home. This is a souvenir from Heaven, man."

Cas put his hand gently on Dean's jaw, leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the lips. They retraced their steps to the campsite, packed up, and began the long hike back.

* * *

Fourteen hours later, Dean and Cas were both drooping; even with taking turns at the wheel, exhaustion crept up on them. They got as far as Billings, Montana, before Dean declared he wasn't willing to die on the road in anything other than the Impala. After consulting the GPS for hotels, they decided on the charming, corny-named _C'mon Inn_.

It was nicer than Dean expected (and pricier, but what the hell). There was a freaking koi pond with a miniature wooden bridge and surrounding tropical garden in the lobby, and the smiling desk clerk informed them of the on-site hot tubs and indoor pool. Their room, when they dragged their wilting carcasses that far, had a flippin' _jacuzzi_. Dean and Cas, though, only had eyes for the enormous, welcoming, sinfully comfortable king-sized bed.

They literally dropped their packs inside the doorway, barely managing to kick off their boots along the way to flop across the mattress before they were fast asleep. Sometime in the night, they crawled closer together. Dean was peripherally aware of a warm body pressing against his own, felt a blanket being pulled up and over them, and sighed into the comfort found there.

Hours later—it could have been day or night, he honestly didn't know or care-Dean woke enough to find Cas tugging at his clothes, gently undressing him. The drapes were still closed and no sunshine peeped through them, but enough light leaked from underneath the adjacent bathroom door that he could just make out the angel's shape. Dean grumbled with amusement and cooperated as much as he could. When they were both blessedly naked, he pulled Castiel under the covers and curled up around him.

Who knew how much later—Dean had no clue—he gradually came to consciousness again thanks to Cas's hands and mouth roaming across his body. Humming with pleasure, he opened to the exploration without hesitation, his own hands sleepily stroking along Cas's arms and shoulders. Cas licked a trail across his stomach and his cock, moving from the root downward. He sucked gently at the sensitive tip for a few moments, which roused Dean just a little more. Cas let go after giving one last long, lingering swipe of his tongue and wiggled his way upwards until they were face-to-face. Dean could taste salty traces of himself on Cas's tongue as they kissed, slow and deep.

Without paying the slightest attention, Dean was maneuvered until their legs were entwined, his upper thigh slung across Cas's hip almost to his waist. Cas slowly stroked the curve where the solid musculature of Dean's thigh became the softness of his ass, moving so, so slowly, carefully. The touches remained consistently gentle until fingertips skated across his entrance. The puckered flesh clenched instinctively against the delicately ghosting circles, but Dean didn't pull away. He kept kissing Castiel, biting those full lips and moaning softly in acquiescence. He was half-asleep still, and everything felt dreamy and sensual. This was the kind of love-making he used to only fantasize, where he and his lover were sleepy, warm, and everything they did together felt familiar, comfortable. Dean didn't want to fight it, didn't want to shake that feeling.

Smoothly, Castiel's fingers rubbed back and forth across his hole, touches so light and soothing that he couldn't help but relax. When he was panting softly, his own fingers clutching at Cas's arm, Castiel paused, pulling back to look at Dean.

There was an unspoken apology in Cas's eyes, for having presumed to take this liberty with Dean while they'd been camping. But there was also desire.

"Dean," he whispered, "let me… let me show you what I feel when you touch me."

Eyes half-lidded, Dean swallowed, then nodded. Clever Castiel had fetched the lube beforehand, so it was mere seconds after gaining Dean's permission that slick fingers were stroking him again. Moaning low in his throat, Dean arched slightly as Cas made small circles. With each slow rotation of his fingers Cas pushed a little deeper until finally the tip of a finger breached him. Dean inhaled slowly as the finger wiggled inward just a bit. He felt it slide up to the first knuckle before Cas paused. Two other fingers rubbed at where he was clenched around Cas's digit, carefully teasing, and Dean felt himself relax into the touch.

Bit by bit, Cas's finger went deeper, sliding until it was completely inside. There it stayed until Dean opened his eyes. Castiel's own eyes were bluer than they had a right to be. Intense, they pinned Dean in place. He felt alternately very small and like the most important being in creation.

"Dean," Cas whispered again, speaking for the first time in many minutes, "I want you to look at me, just look… into my eyes… breathe with me…"

He did, hardly blinking, focused intently on his lover's face, their breathing in tandem. Dean could distantly feel a second finger was inside him now, that the stroking had become more directed, but this was secondary to the way Castiel looked at him. As he watched Cas's pupils dilate and felt the warm breath puffing against his mouth, a sudden pulse of pleasure flared inside, into his groin, his gut, flowing upward, making him gasp. Castiel smiled, crooking his fingers so they continued to massage that sweet spot Dean knew where to find inside Castiel. Damn, it was good—better than he'd expected. He understood why Cas craved it.

Over and over, building up to a steady press and twist, those fingers drove Dean mad. All the while, Cas kept whispering _Look at me, Dean, look at me, only at me._ He tried, oh he tried, but when the pressure became too much, he closed his lids and just let himself feel. Cas never stopped speaking, babbling encouragements for Dean to let go, to come. And he was nearly there, just from Cas's careful fingers and sweet confidence.

He'd been grinding his cock slowly against Cas's stomach and that pressure alone was nearly enough, but he needed just a bit more… He slid his hand down between their bodies, fisting himself while Cas continued to rub and rub inside. Dean came so incredibly hard, gasping and twitching as he felt his ass clenching on Cas's fingers while the other man spoke soft and soothingly.

Cas waited for the spasms to cease and Dean to calm before sliding his fingers out, slowly and easily. Dean gave a great sigh, spent, sated, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it all. Yes, he could admit it to himself- it had been sweet. Dean wouldn't say it aloud, but he'd never felt more cherished. Never before, during, or after sex had he ever felt the urge to cry, but he did now. So he kept his eyes shut and turned his face toward the pillow.

Rising, Cas ducked away long enough to get a towel to clean them with, and Dean, his mind still misty, realized Cas hadn't climaxed, had been left untouched while he focused entirely on Dean's pleasure. Opening his eyes again, Dean saw Cas's cock was heavy and full, bobbing in the air between them. This wouldn't do. Grabbing Cas by the waist, he pulled him down for a kiss, then rolled until he was on his back. He settled Cas on top, right between his open legs. Cas gasped with want, began to grind himself against Dean's groin, but Dean stopped him, tilted his hips up a little further until Cas's erection was rubbing over his still loosened hole.

Cas's eyes went wide, and when Dean merely nodded, he moved to rise and fetch his backpack and the remaining condoms, but Dean wouldn't release him. They were safe, Dean was sure, and he didn't want to wait. When Cas stopped trying to leave, Dean fumbled, finding the lube tucked into a fold of the sheets. He passed it to Cas who popped it open and shakily slicked his cock and poured a bit more over Dean just to be certain. Then Cas sat there, unsure how to proceed. Dean lifted himself enough to put a leg over Cas's hip, opening himself a bit wider, and reached down to grasp Cas's cock. Tugging gently, he moved Cas forward, angling and pressing inward until it had slipped past that first ring of muscle.

They both groaned long and deep and breathless at that. Dean released him to grab the sheets with both hands, twisting his hips a little more, changing the angle again. Cas slid into him gradually, breathing heavily.

The heat and the pressure was nearly more than Cas could endure, but he pushed until he was seated completely and held there. Quivering as Dean took deep breaths, Cas stopped, allowed Dean to adjust to the fullness. When Dean nodded and reached up to grasp Cas's arms, he withdrew just a tiny bit, and pushed forward again. Then again, and again. It was unsteady, not totally coordinated, but incredible.

Castiel trembled with every slow thrust, unable to believe this was happening. He was inside Dean, _inside_ him. Fucking him, giving Dean pleasure in the way Cas had enjoyed so much. It didn't take terribly long- Cas was simply too overwhelmed- before he was coming, filling Dean's body. He shuddered, then backed slowly out, mingled lube and semen easing the way. Dean groaned as he did, and Cas would have asked if he was all right, but Dean smiled up at him lazily.

"Hey," Dean murmured, as Cas lay down again, one hand stroking gently over Dean's stomach. "Guess what?" Cas had no idea, and shrugged weakly. "We were just virgins together."

Cas very nearly giggled. "Are you glad?"

Dean rolled over with a grunt, favoring his ass a little but obviously not in pain, and planted a sloppy kiss on his lover. "You got the one thing I had left to give anyone. And you know what? Yeah, I'm glad."

* * *

They curled up and slept again for a while. When they rose, they dug into their backpacks for the remainder of their camp food. Neither had eaten for nearly a day, and neither wanted to leave the room to find a restaurant. They took advantage of the Jacuzzi, as neither had bathed in a couple days, either. Both declared it wonderful, and teasingly talked about how they'd fit one into the duplex. After eating, they made love again, this time with Dean on his side and Cas tucked behind him, their legs wound tightly with each other as Cas thrust with more confidence. This time, they came together.

As the day passed and they felt no inclination to pack up and leave, Dean called the front desk and paid for another night. Then, reluctantly, they showered and dressed, leaving the room just long enough to go to the nearest restaurant for dinner. They brought a pie back for later, which they ate with their fingers while laughing at bad television, and making out like teenagers all over the bed. The sheets became sticky, stained with mixed berry fruit filling and sugar, but neither could bring themselves to care.

* * *

It was near midnight and they were lounging in the Jacuzzi again when Dean got a frantic phone call from Sam, demanding to know where they were and if they were okay.

"You were supposed to be at Bobby's hours ago," Sam said, worried and pissed at once.

"Dude, chill," Dean sighed. He flicked a soapy finger at Castiel, who downright smirked before putting wriggling toes against his crotch in retaliation. Dean fought a groan, wondering how he was expected to speak coherently to Sam and deal with that at the same time. "We're taking a much earned vacation in a very nice hotel in Montana, where we've been eating and—", a slippery arch slid along his rapidly hardening length and his voice cracked, "—sleeping and fu- _ck!-_ ing for the last thirty-something hours."

Sam paused; Dean swore he could hear gagging. Cas's foot made another sweep down his cock, so Dean didn't really care. Distantly, he heard Sam mutter something, no doubt to Gail, before returning to say," We've been through this before. How do I know it's not another fae trick?"

Dean laughed out loud. It sounded strained and manic, even to him. If he was going to get through this conversation with any dignity left, he had to get away from Cas's wandering touch. "Okay, you want proof? Hang on." He splashed around (ignoring Cas's pout) until they were side by side in the tub, then held the phone at arm's length, snapping a quick picture. "Sending you photographic evidence. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"God damn it, Dean!" he heard Sam yell once the image had been seen. "I didn't need to see _that_ much of you guys!"

Dean squinted at the photo, then down at his crotch. He chortled, "Whoops, guess the bubbles ran out." Yup, right along with his dignity. Oh well, nothing Sammy hadn't seen before.

Sam sighed. "So you guys are… fine. Just let us know where the hell you are next time?"

"Sure thing, mom. Say hi to the doc for us." Dean hung up and tossed the phone. It missed the bed but Dean didn't care; he could get it later.

They eventually crawled out of the tub and dried off, then stumbled into bed and turned on the television for background noise.

"Dean," Castiel said thoughtfully, head pillowed on his chest, "this has been wonderful. Could we stay another day?"

Dean shrugged. He was feeling blissfully fucked out; the last thing he wanted was to leave. "Sure. We earned some R&R time, haven't we? Last few months have been a bitch and a half." He stroked down Cas's arm, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And that was our last quest, wasn't it?"

Castiel's brows pinched. "I believe so. Each image on the Lady's tapestry has been fulfilled. And I believe I have… learned everything I'm going to ever know." He glanced up at Dean through his lashes, looking pensive. "Dean... even if there were more to know, I don't think I care anymore. It doesn't seem important. I know who I am, and who I was. And now, with all that I've been through… I suppose I'm someone else entirely new."

"Hey," Dean whispered, pulling his chin around with one hand, "whoever you are…" There was a sudden stillness in the air between them. Cas heard Dean's throat click softly, then swallow before saying quietly, "You're the one."

Cas's heart caught in his own throat. "Dean…"

"Seriously, man. You're it."

"Dean, I…" Castiel understood without hearing the words. "I love you, too." Shyly, he added, "But I'm pretty sure you already knew that."

Smiling and huffing a laugh, Dean pressed a soft kiss to Cas's mouth. "I might've hoped so. And there's nothing wrong with a little verbal reinforcement." His smile turned into a lazy smirk. "But how about, for right now, you shut up and show me instead?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR NOTES: (locations have latitude/longitude positions - copy into Google maps to see them)
> 
>  _-_ Choosing to set the quest in Canada comes from "The French Mistake". When Sam and Dean returned from the AU, they were in a hotel parking lot, but there's nothing to say where it was so we chose to say it was still in British Columbia outside Vancouver. Regardless of canon location, this is where Castiel showed his wings again, and it was important to acknowledge the burst of power he experienced then thanks to the weapons of Heaven.  
>  -The "guardian demon" and their opinions on Canadians in no way reflects the authors' thoughts. We both love Canada and Canadians.  
> \- [Cathedral Provincial Park](http://goo.gl/N8Ybt) [and Protected Area](http://goo.gl/CXgQG) in BC, Canada. Dean and Cas are camped at the Lake of the Woods site (49.0619, -120.1858) which doesn't actually allow campfires, so we changed that. The fact they got wood from the compound and not taken from the woods itself is accurate – it's a protected area, and you can't damage anything willfully.  
> \- Descriptions of the [hiking](http://goo.gl/X2sSw) [trails](http://goo.gl/2ansD). Ladyslipper Lake: (49.0475, -120.1947). Some photos of the areas Dean and Cas [walked](http://goo.gl/4DYR5) [through.](http://goo.gl/TpH8e) Other locations: [The Devil's Wood Pile](http://goo.gl/2vJda) and The Grimface, Matriach, and Macabre Tower [mountain ridges](http://goo.gl/KxP4N).  
> \- The "little grey fish" happened in canon after we'd moved into AU territory post S6.18 for Use Your Illusions, but no other image was more perfect to describe Castiel. The imagery of water in association with Cas fits within the Grail legend, both as the grail itself and in reference to the Fisher King.  
> \- [Osprey](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osprey). [Amazingly beautiful birds.](http://www.flickr.com/photos/bunnyfrogs/galleries/72157626488607946/) Here's a [size comparison](http://goo.gl/09nC5) to a grown human (it's not being hurt)  
> \- There are indeed [laws against](http://www.pequotmuseum.org/Home/CrossPaths/CrossPathsSpring2003/FeatherLaw.htm) [owning certain types ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eagle_feather_law)of feathers (ospreys are included).  
> \- The [C'mon Inn](http://goo.gl/MR2wB) in Billings, Montana. (45.7534, -108.5643) As nice as this place is, they don't have room service, otherwise Dean and Cas wouldn't have left the room at all.  
> -The concepts in this chapter of Hell are based on several passages from the Bible, including [Isaiah 24:22](http://bible.cc/isaiah/24-22.htm),[ Psalm 88:6](http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalms%2088:6;&version=NKJV;), and [Zechariah 9:11](http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Zechariah%209:11;&version=KJV;).  
> -In the scene of Castiel's memory returning/revelation, there are are a few different references: " _The greatest of these is_ " refers to[ 1 Corinthians C. 13 V. 13](http://bible.cc/1_corinthians/13-13.htm); [Damascene](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damascus_steel) is an ancient sword-crafting technique; and " _Still we march onward, soldiers all, voices blended in triumphiant song_ " is from the hymn "[Onward Christian Soldiers](http://www.hymns.me.uk/onward-christian-soldiers-favorite-hymn.htm)". 


	10. PART III - CHAPTER 10: Look At the Time; Section (a) "Seeing Faces So Familiar"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean and Castiel make a deal with an old acquaintance and set out on a journey to retrieve something vital.

** Early July **

The Winchesters refused to think about anything outside the little bubble of happiness that the duplex had become. Life experience told them that it would rupture on its own soon enough so instead of poking at it as they would have in the past, for once Sam, Dean and Castiel let what was, be. Gail was very much on-board for their unspoken plan.

There was minimal teasing from Dean regarding the new status of Sam and Gail's relationship (along the lines of "looks like you've been mauled by a vamp, Sammy, better get some cover-up" and "now, Doc, about that dowry…"). There was serious discussion of redesigning the bathroom area and splitting it into two separate sides –which had been bandied about lightheartedly before—and Gail left it to Dean, who knew more about construction, to talk with contractors and work up a floor plan (then Dean started pricing Jacuzzis).

Toward the end of June, Gail's birthday came but without a party. She had already booked, months prior, a week-long trip to New York City as her own present; Sam was thrilled when she extended her plans to include him. They left Kansas in a flurry of new luggage and camera accessories to tour all around the city. They emailed and texted photos of themselves outside the Times Square TKTS booth as they waited in line to get their tickets to a Broadway play, of the deli two blocks from their hotel that had Dean literally drooling in jealousy, and the deluxe amenities of their (for Manhattan) generously sized hotel suite tucked just around the corner from Times Square and edging Hell's Kitchen.

While Sam and Gail were having a generally awesome time in the Big Apple, Dean and Castiel reveled in being as nauseatingly domestic as possible. They ate pizza, watched baseball on television, made love in the shower (and used all the hot water since there were no complaints from roommates) and simply enjoyed the time alone together.

Towards the end of the week they decided to hold an impromptu Fourth of July cook-out as a surprise for Gail and Sam once they were home; Castiel suggested inviting Bobby as well and older hunter agreed gladly.

Unfortunately, Gail didn't own a single thing they needed for such an event. The house had no back porch or deck, not even so much as a concrete slab for a grill. After much debate, they decide to buy a bench style picnic table and a tabletop grill, for the minimum amount of damage to Gail's yard. Dean praised the wisdom of Salina's government to re-legalize fireworks and began stocking up; however, Castiel refused to allow the more dangerous types, pointing out sensibly the number of trees in the yard and the dryness of the grass, and wouldn't bow to Dean's whining. They bought burgers and hotdogs, a tub of potato salad, barbecue-style beans, and other things Castiel frowned at as being unhealthy; this time Dean wouldn't bow.

They spent far more money than Dean had thought possible in a discount store, on red-white-and-blue paper plates, cups and streamers. Castiel immediately began to fuss with the streamers, making them a little 'fancier'. Dean watched thoughtfully as Castiel effortlessly knotted a rosette from the thin crepe paper. He had to admit, the former angel was good at it. Those long fingers really knew how to twist and flex fluidly. Probably why Cas handled a blade so very well… and why he could turn Dean's brain inside out with sheer pleasure… Dean sighed and knocked back another beer.

After coming back from Canada, Castiel had mentioned seeking some kind of employment. Knowing he was stuck forever as a human, albeit one with a few special abilities – not on par with Sam's psychic stuff, but definitely crazy smart and physically enhanced in many ways – he really wanted to fit in as best he could. Employment seemed like the first step, and though Dean had reservations about Castiel ever fitting in completely at a conventional sort of job, Castiel insisted he wanted to 'make himself useful' and contribute to the household.

When he considered Cas's many sketchbooks, Dean realized a possibility. "Hey, Cas, what do you think about, I don't know, art school? Or even just selling a few things that you've drawn?" At Castiel's surprised look, Dean added, "You're really talented, Cas. Don't know where you get it from, but you might as well use it."

"Jimmy," Castiel said thoughtfully. "He was able to draw reasonably well in school, but once he was married he sort of… gave it up, I suppose. I believe Claire may have some ability herself…" He gave a little shake to clear his head. "At any rate, I was under the impression that there was no money to be made being an artist," Castiel murmured, though he looked intrigued.

"When you're good, there's money to be made," Dean assured him. Then he smiled fondly. "Frankly, if what made you happy was sitting around eating bonbons and blowing money on QVC, I'd support you, Cas."

"That doesn't sound pleasant, Dean. The amount of sugar in the chocolates alone would make me far too sluggish."

"It's just an example—"

"And I'm fairly certain I saw items from that channel available at the Dollar Store—"

"Example, Cas, example!" Dean sighed. "I'm just saying worry less about the money and more about being happy with what you do."

Castiel hummed and kissed the side of Dean's mouth lightly. "I think for now I'll focus on the streamers." The subject was dropped for then, but Dean could tell he was giving it real thought.

* * *

On the morning of the fourth, Bobby phoned to say he was heading out from Sioux Falls. Half an hour later, Sam called from his and Gail's layover in Chicago to say their flight was leaving for Wichita. Ideally, everyone would be in Salina at roughly the same time, give or take an hour, so Dean and Castiel had plenty of time to get everything well-prepped.

To pass the hours, they decided to wash the Impala. The dry summer had left dust all over his baby, and Dean hadn't run her through a carwash in a couple weeks. Before long, he and Cas were horsing around like idiots more than actually washing the car, throwing soapy rags at each other with abandon and without concern over what the neighbors thought.

(Those very neighbors, when spotting the pair, just smiled and shook their heads; they'd all gotten used to the handsome young gay men living with the doctor and her new beau. Though they'd have preferred not to see the two of them cavorting half-naked and wet in the driveway. Well, _some_ of them wouldn't, but they were obviously repressed).

Dean was directing Castiel how to wax-on wax-off (and laughing his ass off), when he realized he was parched. The spigot at the side of the house wasn't quite closed and the way the hose hung over the edge of the chest-high porch made a perfect drinking fountain. Before he shut it off Dean allowed a trickle of water to fall neatly into his cupped hands.

As he raised his hands to drink, he heard Castiel shout. It wasn't one of those fun _I'm-about-to-get-you-Dean-Winchester_ shouts, either, but more like _oh-shit-what's-happening_. Dean looked up to see Cas's wide eyes and chest heaving in quick, short pants, just before swaying alarmingly. Calling out his name in frantic worry, Dean rushed to catch Cas before he hit pavement. Barely, he managed to get there in time to tip the man over so that he landed in the grass instead. Dean frenetically patted his face, saying, "C'mon, man, look at me. Look at me, Cas..." When Castiel just continued to twitch and moan in his arms, Dean began to babble, "You're just overheated, you need water. Hang on." Lowering him carefully onto the grass, Dean dashed back for the hose, dragging it over to kneel down and dribble water against Castiel's lips.

Cas sputtered, allowed some to enter his mouth, and swallowed twice. Then he pushed Dean aside and sat up woozily. "I'm fine, Dean. There was something…"

"What happened?" Dean tossed aside the hose in favor of laying his hands on Castiel's back, rubbing soothing circles with one hand while the other tipped Cas's face towards his own.

Looking miserable, Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to turn away. "I saw a grail."

Dean froze. "But it's over." He shook his head in refusal. "It's over, isn't it?"

"I thought. Apparently not…" Castiel opened his eyes again, and grasped Dean's damp hand that was still hovering near his jaw line. "They glowed. Your hands. When you cupped the water, they glowed."

"But that's not a cup—"

"It's a vessel to hold water, Dean. The most basic there is." Castiel sighed gustily and stood up, leaning against Dean's chest for support. "This must mean something deeply profound is coming."

"Aw, it's sweet to hear you say so. I don't think I've ever been called _profound_ before. But I'm not so much _coming_ as _here_."

The smooth female voice was unpleasantly familiar, and both men cringed before turning to face the demon it belonged to.

"Meg," Dean growled, actually stepping in front of Castiel in a protective manner.

The slender dark-haired demon smirked in a filthy way (admittedly, the only way she ever smirked was filthily, especially when Castiel was in the vicinity). "Boys, you are _so_ cute together. All hot and sweaty and soaped up. Mm-mmm. Lemme get my camera…"

"What the fuck do you want?" Dean snarled again.

"Is that an invitation?" she purred.

Dean cursed violently when he realized all their weapons were either indoors or in the trunk of the Impala. Except maybe a vial of holy water in the glove box. He muttered this over his shoulder to Cas, who stepped backward toward the car in hopes of opening the door before Meg could—

Shouting in surprise, Castiel felt himself pressed bodily against the side of the car by Meg's slender but strong form. "Calm down, boys, I'm here to talk," she snapped, then rubbed herself against Castiel like a cat, "mmmostly."

Dean whipped around and glared death at her. There was little they could do right now, except hope like hell the bitch wouldn't get violent in broad daylight with neighbors nearby. "How the hell are you even here?" he demanded. "We've got this place warded up tight."

"As a virgin's crossed legs," Meg nodded. " _Except_ for the places a little gnome cracked open before your pet human found him. Sloppy, letting a fairy breach your defenses like that, Dean. _Tsk_."

It took Dean several minutes to realize when the demon said 'pet human' she was referring to Gail. Briefly he wondered if she'd forgotten that Dean was human as well, or if she really didn't think of him as one anymore. Neither thought was very comforting. "Goddamn it," growled Dean, "I'm gonna have Gail kick his ass. The little bastard couldn't have mentioned-"

"You can be grouchy later," Meg announced, suddenly serious. "We really do have things to talk about. Business, in fact." She pushed away from Castiel and stood with arms crossed.

Castiel squinted at her, seeing the stern line of her jaw. "What is it, Meg?"

"It's destiny, Clarence. Yours and mine, heaven and hell."

He could tell she wasn't joking. "What do you mean?"

"You don't remember that part yet?" she frowned, one hand on her hip. "Would've thought the fresh Canadian air shook loose everything up there. Or if not that then repeated smacking of that pretty skull against a Montana hotel headboard should've done it." She waved generally in Dean's direction as he decided to risk moving toward her, and he was frozen to the spot, growling angrily. "Don't start, Dean, we'll never get this done. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Destiny. Clarence, sweetie, there's a piece of you still missing." She poked her finger against his chest, directly below the amulet-shaped scar. "And you can feel it sometimes. Feel it being tugged at, pulled apart…"

Castiel tensed and scowled at her. "I've dreamed that. Being… unraveled."

"That's because a very important part is in Crowley's hands, toots. In Hell. He's been picking at it relentlessly for months, trying to crack it open and get the goodies inside."

Castiel held his breath in shock. He'd known he hadn't remembered everything, but had chosen to let it go, concentrate on becoming truly human, and ignore the sense of loss in hopes that it was something he could learn to live without. But it wasn't a memory unrecovered. It was literally a part of himself.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean barked, struggling against the bonds Meg had placed on him.

"My grace," Castiel murmured, staring at Meg, who nodded.

Dean floundered. "But his grace is gone, it's in Utah—"

"Not every part," Meg corrected sharply. "When Hot Wings here went kersplat, he left part of his grace spewed on the desert, and part got soaked up into your amulet. The amulet Crowley has right now." Returning her eyes to Castiel's face, it was clear that he believed her.

"How do I get it back?"

"Go to Hell."

"Yeah, fuck you too." Dean grumbled.

"Oh, sugar, don't tease me like that. It's hard enough watching you two paw each other without being able to get in the middle."

"God damn—"

"What I _mean_ , Dean," she gritted her teeth in frustration, "is you _literally_ go down into Hell and get it. I can't get it from him. It's yours," she looked at Castiel again, "so it's you that has to recover it. And when you do, you've got everything back. Doesn't that sound good?"

"And what do you want?"

"Smart boy," Meg smiled. "I want my throne."

* * *

Halfway through Salina on their way home in a rental car, Sam suddenly twitched violently. "Shit," he breathed.

Gail turned her head toward the passenger seat. "What's wrong?"

"I just… I think something's happening. We need to…" He looked around the streets cautiously. "Okay, I'm gonna try to play radar detector and watch for cops, because you need to floor it."

* * *

Before Meg could explain, Bobby's old truck was pulling into the driveway. She grumbled angrily and was just about to fling up her other hand and try to bind him as well, when Castiel grabbed her arm and twisted it around behind her back. She was stunned at his strength. Of course he had no power to hold her, but it was still impressive. "Easy, big boy," she hissed, "don't wanna bruise the goods."

"No problem," Cas replied, "there's nothing good here."

Snorting, she said, "You really know how to sweet talk a girl." To be contrary, she wiggled the curve of her ass against Castiel's groin, and was rewarded with a surprised grunt, wide eyes and a flushed face. She smirked. Yep, there was still _something_ …

By that time, Dean was free and leaping toward the Impala for the holy water, and Bobby had pulled out salt and other crap she knew would hurt like a bitch if she didn't get free quickly. Damn it, this wasn't supposed to be so hard.

"Wait," Castiel raised a hand to halt their actions, "she really does have something important to tell us, but this will need to go inside or the neighbors are definitely going to notice and call police. We don't want that."

Meg glared up at him. "You really think I'll go in there? I know you have traps."

Castiel stared her down until her gaze faltered. "If what you have to say is that vital, you have no choice."

"You are still an angelic dick, you know that?" she muttered, yanking her arm away from his grip. Turning to look at him, she was ready to plead her case when another car came screeching into the drive and Sam barreled out of the car. "What the hell…" she sighed.

"Meg," Sam snarled, moving between Bobby and Dean to watch her warily.

"No shit, Sherlock," Meg grumbled. "Well, let's get all the introductions over with." She rolled her eyes over to the doctor standing by the car, with her wide-eyed confusion. "Hi, I'm Meg, the demon bitch who's been plaguing these poor schmucks whenever possible for the last six years."

Gail frowned at her, though not angrily. "This is a demon?" she asked Sam. "I thought they'd be a little more, I don't know, fearsome?"

Meg bristled while the men fought chuckles. When her eyes glowed red, Gail flinched. "Hey, honey, did Sammykins ever tell you about the week I spent riding his ass? Kinda think he liked it," she leered at the tall man's suddenly red face. Her eyes raked his body up and (mostly) down with glee. "Might like it if you did the same—"

"Shut the fuck up," Dean snapped, shaking his flash of holy water near her face. "Get in the house."

With little resistance, she let Castiel push her up the stairs and into the living room of their side of the duplex. Immediately, she was trapped beneath the virtually invisible devil's trap on the ceiling. She sighed and flopped down on the sofa, kicking up her feet. Dean knocked her feet off the table-trunk and opened the lid, pulling out his sawed off, which he passed to Sam, and Ruby's knife.

"Oh, good, you do still have that thing," she said, actually looking glad. "You're gonna be needing it. And no, not for carving me a few new holes."

"Start talking," Dean growled. Reluctantly, they all pulled up chairs and sat around looking at her expectantly. She felt like a damned zoo animal, without the benefit of being able to bite them through the bars.

"Fine, get comfy. It's a long story…"

* * *

Meg wasn't merely a demon. That is, not merely a human who'd gone to hell and become a demon through ages of torture (though she had indeed apprenticed with Alastair but that was – remarkably – by choice). She was, in fact, the daughter of the late Azazel, who was also not a demon but a fallen angel. He was the very angel who'd led the group of fallen that mated with human women and produced the Nephilim.

But Meg was older than that. Her mother had been the first woman seduced by Azazel; the woman told no one of course, and so Meg was conveniently raised as a legitimate daughter of a man well loved by Heaven and God Himself. The famous Enoch.

"Which daughter were you?" Castiel asked, brows furrowed.

"The one who wasn't named after one of Sammy's wives." She watched Sam shift uncomfortably under Gail's curious stare then grumble about past lives. The doctor nodded, although it was pretty clear poor wittle Sammy would have some explaining to do about that later. Hah.

"Melca?" Bobby spoke up, looking amazed. For everyone else in the room, he expanded, "She's mentioned once in the Dead Sea Scrolls, then never again."

"What happened to you?" Castiel asked softly.

Meg chortled. "My real daddy came to get me before I got married off to some dumbass farmer. Or, like my stupid sister, her nephew. Noah," she put in for clearly clueless Dean's benefit. "Yeah, they kept it in the family a bit much back then. Not a lot to choose from in those early days."

"Are we seriously buying this, guys?" Bobby spoke up. "Sounds like an ego trip at the very least. And possibly a load of crap to distract us while some major shit is happening outside."

"What reason do I have to lie?" Meg retorted sourly.

"Uh, demon," Dean grunted _. Wasn't he just a clever boots?_

"Because you said there's something in it all for you, that's why," Bobby snapped over Dean's posturing. "Even if you started out half-angel, half-human, right now you're still _all demon_. That combo sounds like more trouble that it's gonna be worth."

"Gee, I don't know how to convince you boys. Other than, oh yeah, I walked right up to known demon-slaying hunters and a fucking angel, _unarmed_ , and said I just wanted to talk. Also, how about the way I've spent the last nine months, ever since Chickadee there was lying vulnerable in a hospital gown, protecting you morons while other demons who want a piece of your asses and not in the nice way I would" – she leered at Cas – "have been hot on your trail at Crowley's orders. You're lucky you're not already in Hell strapped to a rack."

There was a moment of heavy silence while they obviously debated her words. Whether they believed or not wasn't clear yet, but they definitely were turning over the possibilities of what could happen if it was truth.

Sam huffed, then said as if Meg hadn't spoken at all, "If I could read her mind, I would. But demons are just a jumbled up mess inside their heads. I have no idea if she's lying or not."

Gail chimed in, "Is it possible Bill would be able to tell? I still have his hat and he's bound not to lie to us."

Everyone's eyes turned her way, then back to Meg. She rolled her own eyes and tilted her head back with a huge sigh. "God, I'd almost rather work with demons. They don't ask so many damned questions."

And so Gail retrieved the hat from the box on her mantle. Unsure how to call for the gnome, Gail settled for saying aloud, "Bill?" in a questioning tone.

Between one blink and another, there was a muffled thud and a cursed groan as a nearby book wobbled and fell open on the ground. One chubby hand appeared over the edge of the pages, causing both Winchester boys to yelp, much to Meg's amusement. Castiel and Gail simply watched the gnome extricate himself from the pages in head-tilted fascination, until he was shaking the last few words off the tips of his boots.

"What?" the gnome harrumphed. "Buffoons act like ye ne'er seen a body travel by book before. Any lunk-head knows how reading transports ye to different worlds." After several more scathing remarks on everything from the décor to their presumed parentage (and giving Bobby a once-over as he'd not yet met him directly), Bill stalked over to Meg, grinning like a fiend.

"Well, well. The big nasty fly 'tis caught in the amber. The Lady Tyronoe will be pleased as Punch himself to be hearing of this."

"Shove it, you little hedgehog," Meg grumbled. "Just tell these idiots that I'm telling the truth, so I can get on with it."

Bill sniffed arrogantly at her, but admitted, "Aye, the Loathly Damsel she may be, but also honest in this matter. 'Tis been all the scuttlebutt amongst the communities, as it were. All the fae know Melca, daughter o' Azazel, is needing somethin' _very_ badly and that only the angel – yonder one, the most recently felled," he eyed Sam before looking at Castiel, "can help 'er get what it is she wants. By lucky happenstance, he'll be getting' what _he_ needs in return."

Meg sneered down at the gnome then looked up at Cas, features falling into a gentler expression. "He could have much more, if he wanted." At the deep warning growl from Dean, she relented. "Can I tell my damned story now? Pretty please?"

"I'm interested in hearing what she has to say," Gail put in. When the men of the house turned to stare at her, she asserted, "I know I don't know as much about demons as you do, but I really don't get the feeling that she's out to hurt us. What's the harm in listening to her?"

"Sam," Dean said, but his brother was already moving.

"Sorry, Gail," Sammy said, and before the doctor could ask what for, he was reaching out and tapping her forehead. The woman slumped to unconsciousness, Sam easily catching her before she crumpled to the floor.

Meg laughed. "Oooh, someone's gonna be in trouble when she wakes up."

"It's for her own good. Thinking that there's any such thing as ' _helpful'_ demons has brought all of us nothing but trouble. I don't want Gail around you a minute longer. Bill, follow me." With that declaration Sam lifted the doctor in his arms before carrying her out of the room, presumably to put her to bed, the gnome complaining about _'not being a bloody nursemaid to a mortal'_ the whole way.

"Pooooo! Sam, you're no fun!" Meg shouted at his retreating back. Castiel moving towards her, eyes luminous and large, stole her attention away from the retracted toy, though—he was taking her seriously, more than either Winchester was. _Damn_ , but he was gorgeous when he was all stuffy and solemn. A quick glance away from the fallen angel at the geezer across the room told her that Bobby was also really listening to her. That was good, _really_ good, because if she was able to win over Singer and, well, for all purposes _Singer_ together, then Things One and Two would fall into line.

Meg tried to focus while those blue eyes were fixed avidly on her face. If she wasn't so old and beyond feeling certain things, she'd almost have considered blushing.

She continued her tale… Telling how Azazel had taken her under his wing, so to speak, trained her in the magic she was naturally inclined to, and the ways of mankind. She learned of Heaven and Lucifer's fall, Hell and the Cage. "And," she said wryly, "about what a total dick Michael is. I mean, casting out his brothers just because they like the bump and grind of humanity? How is that fair? Such a prude. If he'd gotten laid just once—" The stern expressions on every face in the room made her sigh, and get on with the story.

She told of the rumblings among the angels who had sometimes visited earth, wondering if perhaps Lucifer had been right. Then Azazel had led his own rebellion; his angels took vessels, as he had to impregnate Meg's mother, and came down to sow their own wild oats. Of course the result was what she decided to call the 'Nephilim scandal', as if it were no more than last year's tabloid headline.

To escape God's wrath the fallen angels had gone to Hell on their own, thinking of working with the original fallen to help Lucifer free of the Cage. "Enemy of thy enemy, blah blah," Meg explained. But Hell had had much more internal strife than anticipated and the only thing both factions succeeded in doing was killing each other off in the resultant power struggle. Azazel and his group had won, barely. Then they began to pull down human souls, largely for fun. They were fascinated by the evils and pettiness of humanity and looked upon it as an experiment, taking the souls apart piece by piece to figure them out. Eventually, they learned enough to sympathize with Lucifer's views.

"Of course, we might have felt differently about humanity if we'd gotten some, you know, _pure_ souls down in the Pit. But all we get are the perverts, sickos and dregs of society. Hard not to think the worst of a people when that's all you see of them, eh? That's why Dean was such a novelty in the Pit—for a lot of demons, he was the first not-completely corrupt soul they'd ever seen. All those glowy bits," she sighed, reminiscing. Then she pulled herself back, thinking that reminding Cas how she'd also had access to Dean's soul while he was tortured in Hell might be frowned upon. The goodie-goodie might not like that idea, even though Meg had never so much as touched it, tempting as it may have been.

She went on to explain about how, in time, the demon's ideas caught on back on earth. They'd whispered into the ears of corrupt men, religious leaders, that it was the natural order – you do evil in your life, you go to Hell to be tortured. And humans did, _all on their own._ Hell broke them, made them into monsters, the first demons since Lilith.

Meg laughed merrily at that part of the tale. "Human ingenuity, you have to admit it's something else. They made up new ways to torture themselves, both on earth and below. Most amazing of all, God did _nothing_ to stop it. About that time, we realized he'd washed his hands of the whole mess. In fact, the last time he bothered with direct contact with his precious humans was knocking up Mary before he checked out. Didn't even call her in the morning, left that job to your brother Gabriel. _That_ went well. Rumor was Gabey decided to book it out of Heaven himself, freelance for the pagans for a while." From the barest flicker of expressions on the faces around her, she guessed that was true.

Castiel was shaking now, but it was hard to tell whether it was fury or… something else. Meg went on, watching him closely. "But _my_ daddy took care of us. I'd already given up my humanity and moved into Hell with him. They kept the old hierarchy of Heaven thing going, and daddy was pretty high up. Sort of what you'd call a prince. Which made me a princess—"

" _Oh, my God_ ," Dean interrupted then, clearly trying not to laugh aloud. "Is _that_ what this is about? Daddy promised you a pony for your sweet sixteen-thousandth and you didn't get it? Wow, that's just _pathetic_. I can't believe I actually expected more from you."

"Look, you dick, it's way more than that," Meg growled. "Angels, when they get bitter, tend to get into homicidal arguments. So by the time you guys rolled onto the scene, plans were in place – plans agreed on between Heaven _and_ Hell's agents – to just end it all. God was gone, they wanted shit over, no more fighting, no more death. Azazel was the acknowledged leader of this plan, which you were a part of" – she glanced specifically at Sam – "by both sides. But you had to go screw it up with that damned Colt." When comprehension didn't seem to be forthcoming for her dear little idiots, Meg sighed and said, "Here's the thing. Daddy was in charge. He was... basically King, yeah? He got whacked. There was an instant power vacuum. Others took over as Regent because I wasn't strong enough to rule then, because a couple of human dickheads had _exorcised_ me recently from a host. Which, I'll add, does hurt a demon's power level, okay? Even if it doesn't kill us. I missed my shot because I wasn't strong enough. Not then."

"And you are now?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Not completely," she admitted, "but only because now Crowley's in the way, and a sitting ruler automatically has access to more souls than any other member of the Court. And since he's been personally tapping them like a keg, it makes him even more powerful."

"Yeah, funny how a crossroads demon could steal Hell away from ancient mutt like you," Dean laughed.

Meg was fuming by now, looking like she'd happily risk the knife to get her hands on Dean's throat for just a moment. It was only Castiel's glare that stopped her. "The Regents were only supposed to rule temporarily, but Crowley ousted them and named himself King by using his own powers as a crossroads demon, the sneaky prick. See, there are rules, really ironclad ones, they have to obey. Come when you're called, make and seal a deal, sic the hounds when the deal comes due. But if you're clever you can find ways to make it work for you personally. If, say for example, a person asked for a mansion in Beverly Hills and just _happened_ to wish one for the demon as well, and the demon could offer them an extra couple years before the deal comes due in return... and when the human agrees then of course the demon is also bound by the contract and, gosh darn it, has _no choice_ but to grant their wish."

Bobby snorted. "So he manipulated the system. That's how he got all that fancy ass stuff, the house and the car, the tailor-made suits. Get someone to share their wishes."

"Jealous you're not sharing it with him?" Meg puckered up and leered at Bobby, and was treated to a trio of nasty glares. "Crowley used that loophole for more than that. He got Hell. Promised some vicious old asshole an extra fifty years to spend his grandkids' inheritance and a buttload of Viagra for the new bimbo he'd just bagged… if the wish included Crowley becoming king of Hell."

There was dead silence for a moment. Then Dean said, "You're saying he sleazed his way onto the throne, just like he does everything else? No big battles or bloody coups? Damn, he's good."

Can we _not_ sound like we're admiring the man who is trying his best to kill me," Castiel growled. Dean looked suitably chastened.

"And then the bastard starts working with lover boy here," Meg stared straight at Castiel then, and the room went silent again. She'd ripped the wound right open and was gleefully watching it bleed. Okay, so she was an equal opportunity sadist, she liked watching them all squirm more than a little bit. "Yeah, remember how much fun _that_ was, honeypie? Sneaking around behind everyone's backs, cuddling up with Crowley and Balthazar – and me, hah – sucking down those juicy monster souls like candy? All because there _actually was_ a big battle and a bloody coup taking place in _Heaven_."

Castiel turned pale from the horror of memories washing through his mind: the blackness that had filled him and made him do unspeakable things in the name of defeating Raphael; lying to Dean, betraying him. Very nearly losing him. Visions of Raphael flashed in his head, making him cringe – images of torture in Heaven… his grace brutalized… his human vessel… on earth…. something vital had been said and done. _Something deeply important._

He reeled in his chair, looking like he would throw up. "Meg," he gasped, "get on with it. What does this have to do with me?"

When she started speaking again, it was without the usual venom. While she'd thought she would like watching angelcake squirm, when it actually came down to seeing his skin go white and him sway from unpleasant memories, it left her with an uncomfortable feeling she vaguely recalled as _'guilt'_. It was faint, bare traces, but she hadn't felt it in so long that it was potent enough to make her stop needling him quite so badly.

"You are the key to a _lot_ of things—" she began.

Castiel swayed again as images pulsed in his head. _A key... I opened a door, I locked it again… What door was still left?_

"—not the least of which is getting Crowley off the goddamned throne of Hell. And getting your grace back in the process, remember that?" Meg said, voice calm and low but frustration evident.

She was interrupted by Sam's demanding, "What the hell?" as he walked back into the room – no doubt having tucked the good doc safe in her bed, how sweet. He must've caught the tail end of Meg's little speech, because he looked utterly lost.

"Later," Dean said. "Trust me."

Castiel muttered, "And I have to go to Hell to get it back… How…"

"What the _hell!"_ Sam repeated.

"And you stick Crowley down with that—" she pointed at Ruby's knife, still in Dean's now-lax hand "—and Excalibur. That's the only reason Tyronoe gave it to you, you know. So you'd have two bladed weapons forged by neither Heaven or Hell, which can't be controlled by either side. Only a human can use them for this and you are conveniently both humans. _Now_ ," she looked at Castiel significantly. "As long as you act fast, Crowley won't be able to stop you. Once you've got him pinned like a bug on a board, I'll swoop in and take care of the rest."

Bobby waved his hands swiftly. "Whoa, here. We're _not_ going down into Hell just to get you a damned chair and a tiara. What's to say we can't find our own way there and cut you out of the deal?"

Meg glared at him. "Because it wouldn't work. Say you off me and then get Crowley cornered. You won't be able to kill him, just like you couldn't kill Lucifer. Or," Meg paused to consider, "say by some miracle you _do_ kill the boss _._ The power of the throne would go to the closest available heir... and Sam's the next available candidate. Whattya say, Sammy? Wanna rule Hell?" At the younger Winchester's vigorous shake of the head 'no', Meg smirked at Bobby and said, "So you and Sammy aren't invited, grandpa. Only angelface and butthead have tickets to this Magical Mystery Tour. "

Sam interrupted. "Hang on, you said the weapons aren't from Heaven or Hell. Which I guess, from the other problems we've been having, means fairy made." Meg nodded. "But Ruby told me the knife was something she made."

Meg chortled outright. "Yeah, she _would_ say that. The bitch was tricky but that was about it. She was a lousy sorceress—could barely stir her own spells, the slag – and she wasn't a swordsmith. Any idiot can carve spells into metal – which I'm sure you've never translated, because it's fairy stuff – but that's all she did. The actual magic to power the thing, she tricked out of a deal with a horny leprechaun. Something about having dirt on him his wife wouldn't be happy to find out about." Waving the details aside, Meg said, "The knife is actually a fragment of its original self, something much older than you were told. See, once upon a time there was this sword that got broken into pieces…"

Castiel gasped and swayed again. "The dreams…"

"Yep," she confirmed. "It's not just a metaphor for impotence, or some crap like that." She glanced at Dean with a smirk. "It was Arthur's first sword, the one pulled from the stone. When it broke, he got a second one from the lake: Excalibur. Except for the one piece you've got there, Excalibur was forged partly using the rest of the broken sword. How Ruby got a hold of the leftover piece…?" Meg shrugged. "By the way, the original sword—now your knife- has a name." Here she grinned wide. " _Clarent_. Isn't that precious? It's like _destiny_ , Clarence."

"You can stop calling him that, _Melca_ ," Dean sneered at her sour expression.

"Fuck off."

"No thanks."

"I feel him pulling at it," Castiel said out of the blue. He clutched at his chest and grimaced. Dean turned immediately to his aid. As Cas breathed shakily in and out, it almost seemed there was a glow behind his eyes, as though grace was pulsing somewhere deep, deep inside, trying to climb its way out of Hell and back into his body.

Meg pursed her lips. "He'll keep doing that, stripping away it slowly, until you take the damned amulet back. You can't get into Hell without _my_ help, and I can't get the throne without _yours_. Do you see now?"

Sam and Bobby were exchanging looks with Dean, who helplessly patted Castiel on the back. Bobby spoke up. "There's no other way?"

Meg shook her head. "If there was, I'd have done it already. Both the throne and the amulet. Believe it or not, I want to help."

Castiel's eyes captured hers, and there was a moment of heat. They'd always had a strange connection neither could explain. Meg liked to take advantage of that with her lusty ways, but she could tell Castiel wasn't certain what he really thought of it all.

"Yes, I believe you," he said finally said. Meg could feel the air leaving her meat suit's lungs in relief; she really hadn't known what she was going to do if Castiel refused to play. "How do we do this?"

* * *

Meg kept inching closer and closer to Castiel as she talked, and Dean didn't like it.

Sure, he maybe should have had other concerns besides the demon's personal space issues, but the hunger in her eyes as she looked at Castiel... especially the way she looked at him when Cas was unaware, like he was something beautiful and holy and she couldn't decide if she wanted to defile or worship him... it was too freaking close to how Dean imagined he looked at the former angel sometimes.

They'd taken a brief break after Castiel's sudden pronouncement that he believed and was willing to work with the demon, enough for Dean to have a panic attack (though he didn't call it that out loud) as memories roiled through his head: of that year of uncertainty and doubt about Cas's motivations before their midnight hour Hail Mary to try to clean his mess up, all of which resulted in a saved world but a dead Castiel.

Regarding today's plans, Sam and Bobby had both tried to talk him down in their own ways but it was Cas who finally succeeded, rubbing his cheek along the space behind Dean's ear and whispering a promise that whatever they did, they'd do together. Meg made exaggerated gagging noises in the background but Dean didn't care. Cas's actions not only reassured Dean, they were also a clear indicator to the demon just _who_ Castiel had truly chosen. He should've expected that a public snuggle (again, not a word he'd ever use with his Outdoor Voice) would only encourage the bitch to up the ante and try even harder to tempt Cas.

And yeah, Dean was still heterosexual enough to admit that Meg made a damn fine temptation. He usually preferred his women sweet and sassy, but he recognized that a lot of guys were really into crazy chicks, especially when they were wrapped up in a cute and cheeky package the way Meg was. He wasn't freaking blind, he'd seen from the start how Cas was drawn to her, though maybe even God didn't know _why_. And to make matters worse, she was offering Castiel a hell of a lot more from their little deal than Dean ever expected. Even if the former angel wasn't going to be distracted by her _assets_ , the words coming out of her mouth might be enough to snag him...

"…I was thinking I'd close Hell off to the mortal population for the most part, actually. I mean, if someone calls one of my boys specifically by name and with a ritual they'll have to come, those are the rules. But I won't be handing out day passes the way Crowley does..."

 _No_. Dean wasn't gonna be _that_ guy, the one that sits in the corner and lurks like a creeper because his boyfriend is preoccupied with a conversation. A conversation Dean well knew he could be a part of if he only spoke up, but he just sat there like a lump as Sam and Bobby gave brief interjections and presented ideas and Meg flirted with Cas and offered him _so damn much_ -

"...yeah, there are six _actual_ entrances to Hell that a living mortal can enter, but three of them are in volcanoes and one is deep underwater. The church in Scotland's out of the question because Crowley has connections there; he'd know the minute you set foot in it…"

Dean got up for a beer, not bothering to ask the others what they wanted. He fished two out, childishly slamming the refrigerator door shut just to see if anyone would freaking notice or ask what was wrong. Nope. _Jerks, the lot of them_.

"… so the Nekromantion is your best bet. Yeah, it's in Greece, which boo, and it's a tourist trap but at least they only have day trips and it's already evening there now. The door's underground and through a cave, which is loads better than lava, demons and a gazillion gallons of water, yeah?"

Dean strode forward, making sure to put an extra swing in his step to bow his knees out just a touch more, remembering Castiel telling him how erotic he found the curve of his legs (especially when wrapped around Cas's waist). _Nothing_. The bastard didn't even glance at him as he continued to stare at Meg like she held the answers to the universe. So-fucking-what if she actually _did_ , in this case. Undeterred, Dean nudged the extra longneck he was holding into Cas's hand. With a brief flicker of his eyelids and a muttered, "Thanks, Dean," Castiel accepted the bottle. Instead of opening it, however, Cas merely snagged a coaster (man wasn't so absorbed by Meg that he didn't remember his unholy obsession with coasters, but he couldn't even _look_ at Dean?) and placed the beer on top of it, unopened. Dean spent so long brooding on how the demon and Cas were interacting ( _was she fucking putting her hand on his knee now?_ ) that he completely missed when an agreement was fully reached until Meg snapped her fingers in front of his face and said, "Hey! You first, Dean-o."

"Me first what?" he said, dumbly.

Rolling her eyes, Meg said, "You're dealing with the still-Queen of the Crossroads, dumbass. You've made enough deals you know the drill. Now pucker up."

"Whoa, whoa. I never agreed to a deal!" Looking over at Cas, Sam, and Bobby for support, he was instead greeted with three identical expressions of disbelief.

"Yes, you did," Sam said slowly. "Just a minute ago. Cas and Meg came to an agreement, then Meg asked you if you agreed as well. You said yes."

"I did no such thing!" Dean sputtered.

"No..." Bobby said, the glimmer to his eyes showing he was honestly finding this all amusing, the bastard. "Your actual words were 'sure, fine, whatever'."

"I did think that was a rather casual and ambivalent answer for the subject we've been discussing," Castiel said, a frown pinching his features. "You weren't listening at all, were you?"

He looked pissed, and Dean couldn't blame him – it was the deal to end all deals, after all. Below that, though, was a thick layer of hurt. Shit, he'd encouraged the angel to include him in all huge, apocalypse-potential plots, and then when he _did_ Dean spent the whole time pouting instead. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Thinking quickly, Dean tried to cover with, "No, yeah, I was just... I mean..." Floundering under the intensity of Cas's disappointment, Dean said, "Of course I'm not gonna sound excited about it, dude. I mean, demon deal. But I was listening. Totally."

"Then you're not gonna mind laying one on me, are you Dean?" Meg taunted. The bitch knew he hadn't a clue what was being said, and he would lay money on her knowing why as well. Castiel crossed his arms, watching Dean expectantly. Cursing internally, bluff well and truly called, Dean tried to plaster what he thought was a normal expression on his face.

"Sure. Let's get this over with."

Oh God, _oh God_ , he wasn't going to really make a deal without knowing what it was, was he? Dean looked over at Castiel and saw the worry on his lover's face, the concern that—if Dean was reading right—Dean would back out of this, would refuse to help. And truthfully, Dean quailed for a moment, recalling how the last deal Castiel had brokered without anyone's assistance turned out. But he'd forgiven that. And just as he'd learned to trust _Sam's_ decisions after the Ruby debacle, so it was time to trust _Cas_.

Screwing his eyes shut, Dean pursed his lips in the barest parody of a kiss. Meg chuckled and moved in, rubbing her nose along Dean's before placing her own tightly puckered lips against his.

"Definitely not your best, Winchester," Meg drawled, "but enough to fulfill the terms of the contract." With a gleam in her eye she whirled to face Castiel. "Your turn, Hot Wings." She stepped closer to Cas and Dean barely restrained the urge to growl. Whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, she said, "I really never got why you worked me over so thoroughly on that second kiss, Clarence. I felt so _clean_ afterward, I was surprised to find out I wasn't a virgin all over again."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. If only the demon knew just how possible that was. He recalled with the humiliatingly swift climax during his one-nighter with Jamie the barmaid in Pennsylvania, right after his resurrection. She'd been extraordinarily kind about it all, thank God. But his flesh had felt brand new, his body unfamiliar to touches, every sensation so intense it was like being fresh into puberty again. One more reason to be happy the angel was decidedly _human_ now, Dean thought, so the demon bitch couldn't enjoy such a pleasure at Cas's hands.

Meg smiled, practically draping herself across Castiel. "Was it to make your Deanie-poo jealous? Wanna see if we can make his head pop this time? I already see a big old vein on his forehead, just ready to blow…"

Castiel didn't answer, either to confirm or refute. Instead he yanked her into his arms.

Watching Cas kiss was almost like watching a contact sport. He threw his whole being into it – fingers tangling in her hair, grasping her face, his arms and shifting hips and mouth all battling for dominance. The demon absolutely purred, meeting Castiel's tongue thrust for thrust.

Sam and Bobby looked away in discomfort. And Dean was just moving to interrupt when Cas pulled away from Meg as quickly as he'd pulled her to him, panting.

"Is that sufficient to seal our contract?"

Meg's whole body shivered. "Oh, yeah. More than. Daaamn, angel." She grinned with woozy pleasure at Cas's flushed face. "Remember, that deal to ask for demons by name extends to me. I'll come absolutely _any_ _time_ you call, baby…"

Dean did step forward then. "Can we please get this show on the road? I'd like to get in and out of Hell before lunch, if possible." When he saw Sam and Bobby glance uneasily at each other, he frowned. "What?"

"Um, it's not gonna be that fast, for you anyway," Sam said. "Remember how time passes differently."

"Shit," Dean groaned. Well, he'd just proved how little he'd been paying attention. "How long?"

"Five days," Meg said. "It'll take about that long to make your way through the caves. I can't go in with you and hold your hands, boys. It'll be one hour here, five days there. But don't worry too much. Part of the deal we sealed is that I'll know if you're in real trouble you can't possibly get yourselves out of, and that'll take me straight down to try and save your pretty asses again. Even if it means we all get caught and strung up by our intestines." Clapping her hands together loudly, she said, "Okay, you boys slip into something more comfortable for traipsing through Hell than those sexy shorts and wet t-shirts, and grab your equipment. Hmm," she leered, unable to control her lusty impulses, "then bust me out of this joint and we're on our merry way to the Cradle of Democracy."

Soon after changing into more standard hunter wear and loading up their duffels with various tools, Dean and Cas were out on the lawn with Bobby, Sam and Meg. She saw their bags, and shook her head. "Nope, fairy blades only, boys. The underworld won't let you in with human forged weapons, remember." Meg snapped her fingers and conjured a huge shoulder bag of her own. When Dean glared, she said, "Hey, a girl needs her stuff, and I'm not going down with you. All right, off we go."

Cas and Dean pulled out the blades, Meg put her hands on their shoulders, and they zapped into thin air.

* * *

Greece was dark, Dean thought as they reappeared on foreign soil. Then again, they were in the middle of freaking nowhere and the nearest town with electricity was probably a hundred miles away or something. He could barely make out the shape of the hills and trees around them. But Meg was striding purposefully across the rocky ground with Castiel close behind, so Dean sprinted to catch up.

They reached a tumble of stones that turned into the ruins of what had been a small ancient temple. There was an entrance for the tourists, which led down a metal stairway some twenty feet or so to the crypts underground. Meg flicked her wrist and the small lamps hanging along the walls of the tunnel came on. They cast little light, no doubt to preserve the spooky ambience for visitors.

They walked the long arched tunnel carved into the very earth, until they came to a dead end. It was a solid stone wall, which looked like a passageway had been filled in with rocks so many centuries ago that it was nearly fused now. But there was still a long diagonal crack from top to bottom.

"There's your doorway, boys," Meg announced. "They used to talk to the dead through this before all the psychics packed up and moved away. That is, when the church tore it down and put a crappy monastery on top of it. New religions, they love to trample the old ones. All the gods move on or go on the payroll for the new guys." She sneered at Castiel. "You'd know about that, eh, Clarence?"

Castiel merely sneered back. He knew too well, having remembered Atropos and Veritas, and their treachery. Just because a deity joined your team didn't mean they wanted to play by your rules. He wasn't sure he could blame them for it, however. It was no better than missionaries conquering indigenous peoples, bringing Bibles and diseases, and telling the natives that God infected them because they didn't believe in Him. The old gods were just as downtrodden, and if they lashed back, well… it wasn't a surprise.

"Don't worry, Hades has left the building. He and the missus packed up and moved to Hawaii or something, I dunno, but the alarm system is still in place. Hey, just because you leave your house doesn't mean you might not come back home, and no one wants to find out somebody broken in and stole the TV. Or whatever." Meg reached into her overlarge shoulder bag and pushed aside something that growled and shuffled around. "Chill out, Bubbles, mommy just needs her bottle of – There." With a grunt, she pulled out what looked like a spray can. "Here, hold this," she said, shoving her bag at Dean, who backed away swiftly.

"Whoa, no way."

"Too macho to hold a lady's purse?" she smirked.

"Uh, first – you're not a _lady_ , bitch. Second – whatever the fuck you've got in there sounds like it has about ten rows of teeth and maybe killer fleas."

Meg's smirk got bigger. "It's a mini-hellhound, if you must know."

Dean's eyes bugged. "Mini—"

"Bred them myself. Very handy. Easier to transport than the full-sized and still just as vicious, while being absowutewy adowable." She made a cutesy face and cooed at the invisible beast.

" _Really_ , Princess Hilton?" Dean grimaced in utter disbelief. "I mean, ' _Bubbles'_? I can't believe I'm saying this, but I thought you had more taste."

Grinning in real delight, Meg sidled closer to him. "Dean, I do believe that almost resembled a compliment. Watch it, or you might make sugarbuns over there jealous."

"Not likely," Castiel intoned dryly. "Just get the door open."

"Hmm, so bossy," she purred, "I'll bet you like that, don't ya, Deano? Probably just has to tell you to stay put without even breaking out the cuffs." When all they did was glare hatred at her, she sighed, put the dog and bag down, and shook the spray can. "Fine, let's send you guys to Hell, shall we?"

The spray can turned out to be blood and not paint (of course), but one had to admit it was far more efficient than cutting open a vein and smearing with your hands. She made a fairly neat symbol on the stone wall (one Dean had never seen, and which even Castiel shrugged at), then chanted something low and soft, almost like she was begging rather than commanding.

With a slight shudder, the wall split along the crack and grated ponderously inward like double doors on hinges. A scent of old dampness wafted out, very much like a living cave. Inside was near blackness, but there was a sense of great distance and depth. The sound of dripping water was intermittent and a long way off.

"Okay, last minute instructions," Meg said, reaching into her bag again, and pushing aside the growling hellhound. "Take the pathway straight to the river. It gets brighter as you go so you won't need any lights. But you will need to pay." She stood and handed them each a very old coin, corroded bronze things that looked like they'd come from a sunken ship; they probably had. "The boatman won't take you over without them. And after you land, you'll need these." This time she presented a bag containing three bits of pastry. "The dog loves honey biscuits. He'll let you pass if you give each head a piece."

"Each… head?" Dean swallowed, taking the bag.

"Well, yeah. Big daddy Cerberus, father of the hellhounds. Read your mythology, Winchester. Okay, you've got your payment. Then there's the matter of trials…"

"Wait, wait," Dean held up his hands. "You never said anything about—"

"You really think this was gonna be a walk in the park, Dean?" Meg snapped. "It might not be the Hell you rotted in for four decades, but no underworld is a picnic. You _pay_ , and you _suffer_. This is a mostly empty underworld so you don't have to suffer at anyone's hands but your own. You'll pass through several zones, and in each one you'll deal with different things. In this case, likely memories and emotional baggage. That oughta be _loads_ for fun for you and your repressed brain."

Dean scowled, trying not to crush the biscuits in his fist. "What the fuck are these 'zones'?"

"Well, if you take the straightest course – which I highly recommend – you'll pass by or through four areas. Phlegethon, the Asphodel Meadows… Lethe and Mnemosyne are mostly together, then probably Cocytus. After that, Crowley'll know you're there and probably send for you himself. So you'd better be ready when he does."

Dean's head was spinning. "What the hell are all those—"

Castiel filled in. "The first is the River of Fire."

"Metaphoric, only," Meg said, "lucky you."

"The others are... less violent, if I recall," Castiel pursed his lips, trying to remember what he'd read and knew on his own. "The Meadows are basically neutral territory, though I suppose there are aspects we might not be aware of. Lethe is forgetfulness—"

"More accurately, oblivion," Meg corrected. "Meaning you'll forget literally everything if you're not cautious. Which is why Mnemosyne is next to it. Unfortunately, that's perfect memory. Photographic. Unpleasant for many."

"Great," Dean muttered, hating this more by the minute.

"The last one, that's… Crying? Grieving?" Castiel asked.

"Close enough. Remorse might be a better description. You'll probably be stuck there a while," she snorted.

"So we have to deal with all that… on our own… just to get to Crowley?" Dean sighed. "And fuck only knows what he'll have in store for us afterward."

"Yep. So hop to it, cowboy. I've been waiting for centuries, and I'm tired of it." Meg crossed her arms and grimaced.

Dean was choking on his own fear now, wondering just what he'd been thinking when he'd agreed to this venture. Then he looked to his left, saw the determined profile of his lover, knowing how much Castiel needed to be complete… and sighed. Cas went to Hell for him. He'd go to Hell for Cas. _With_ Cas.

But Dean's body broke into a cold sweat as he put his foot over the threshold into another world, feeling the chill of it sweep out and wrap around him. This was still gonna be Hell after all, no matter what it started out being like it would end in Hell…

Meg suddenly grabbed Cas's arm. "Castiel," she said softly, using his actual name for the first time, drawing Dean's rapt attention. "Don't mess this up. I… don't want to scrape your insides off the walls of my throne room…" There was possibly genuine concern, and more, in her eyes.

For a moment, Castiel stared at her with an unreadable expression. Then he tilted his head lower and – _son of a bitch!_ – kissed her again. A light peck on the lips, on his own steam, without coercion. Dean's blood boiled and he swore the cool air from the cave was heating up around him.

"Meg," Cas said just as softly, "I want this as much as you do, even though I don't know what will happen. I hope…" He clenched his jaw and turned away from her before Dean could find out what the hell Cas _hoped_. He stepped past Dean into the chilled cave entrance, while Meg stood in the outer hall, looking small and oddly fragile.

"Good luck, guys," she said as the door slowly closed between them. "Seriously."

Dean was so angry at the moment that he barely noticed where he was until the doors were closed and the darkness folded over them. Then he realized he was in Hell – again, for fuck's sake – and his entire body gave a shiver of dread. Any fury he had to speak about Meg would have to wait a while.

* * *

For a moment, Dean and Castiel stood there breathing shakily until their eyes adjusted. There was a sort of soft green glow ahead of them. Stumbling carefully forward with one hand against the walls and blades in the other, they made their way down a long tunnel for what seemed half a mile.

At the end it opened into a huge cavern, seeming endless in length and height. The floor was slick with water and large lumps of stalagmites covered a great deal of the floor's surface. But there was a fairly obvious pathway between the columns, so they proceeded cautiously. The only light for the moment was a phosphorescence of unknown origin.

They weren't sure how long they traveled before they reached the banks of the River Styx. It was impossible to see across the water, it might as well have been an ocean for the size of it. Castiel took his coin and waved it in the air and in a moment a fog rolled toward them, out of which materialized a decrepit wooden boat large enough for maybe a dozen people, with an equally decrepit old man at the helm, gaunt and looking mostly dead.

Dean hefted Excalibur a little higher, wondering if he'd have to fight this zombie-looking bastard, but Castiel shook his head. "It's Charon, the ferryman. He'll take us across the river." Stepping up to the edge of the riverbank, Castiel passed the ancient coin into the man's skeletal hand, which closed in a tight fist over the bronze piece. Charon's head tilted in acquiescence and Castiel motioned for Dean to follow him. Once paid, Charon allowed them into the boat and shoved off from shore with a long pole.

The trip across was far smoother and faster than it would've seemed possible, considering the vastness of the river. Soon they were at the opposite shore, and looking back they saw nothing but darkness and fog behind them. Uneasy, they moved onward, following a much smoother path than the cavern they'd started in.

Before long there was a distinct odor of rotting meat and they heard a low growling, so low it was almost subsonic. The sound rattled through the stone and their bones, making them both break into a sweat of nerves.

"That's gotta be the dog, right?" Dean whispered, scrambling in his jacket pocket for the bag of biscuits.

"Undoubtedly."

Around a corner came a dog the size of a horse. Its body was black and muscular, and the three heads were sniffing the air, froth dripping from its gaping, fang-filled mouths. One head was black like the body, while the others were a dingy white and rusty red. On each was a mane of serpents, hissing and swaying, and its tail was serpentine as well. Dean cringed away, remembering a little too well the hellhound that had shredded him years ago. This one looked much the same, though perhaps a little less unholy. More freakish than demonic.

It took a few steps in their direction, causing the ground to shake slightly with every thump. Now all three heads were focused on the two men, eyes blazing like green fire. Dean fumbled out the biscuits and the dog's ears all pricked forward eagerly. Remarkably, it sat down and stared at the treats expectantly, and Dean looked at Castiel in bemusement.

"Go on," Castiel nudged him, and Dean flicked the biscuits to the dog, one by one. They were snapped out of the air, each head getting a share. And as it sat there chewing, the honey sweetness sticking to its mouth and causing it to smack loudly trying to clear the mess, Dean and Castiel slipped past and into the great cavern of the underworld.

The cavern was less of a cavern now, and more like it had been carved by the hands of giants to resemble a cave, and that was probably true. It seemed miles and miles wide and even further deep. Old trees, centuries dead, stood in a grove to the left; an area of husks that may have been grasses and flowers lay to the left. In the distance was a stone structure that looked as though it could have been a palace an eon ago.

But there were no souls of the dead. Meg had said it was empty, but this was more than empty. It was hollowed out.

"Wonder where they all went," Dean mused in a low voice.

"I suspect Heaven or Hell," Castiel answered, gazing around. "One religion takes over, the old ones fade away. Souls have to go somewhere, so they were likely… absorbed, I suppose."

"Hope they didn't mind the change in scenery…"

"I rather doubt they had a say in the matter." Castiel sounded peevish.

Dean sighed in agreement. The walked onward until they saw several rivers cutting across the landscape, and the little trail they'd been on suddenly branched into about half a dozen. "Oh, great," Dean snorted. "Follow the path, she says. But with no convenient sign posts pointing to Boston or Coney Island or Albuquerque…"

Castiel squinted at him for a moment, decided the cultural references weren't worth questioning, and was just lifting his hand to point at potential direction, when the blade in his hand began to glow. "Dean, it would seem that we've got a compass."

Excalibur's jewels glinted in the light of Clarent, and the two seemed in agreement, so Dean and Castiel went down the centermost path.

"Ya know," Dean said with a grin in Cas's direction, "I really thought it would be harder than thi—"

_The lightning split the air, crackled along the chains, sizzled through the hooks ripping into his body. He wailed in agony and terror. The stench and heat were acidic, burning his eyes and throat. Blood choked him, filled his lungs, yet he could still breathe enough to scream._

" _Help! Somebody help me!"_

_Nothing but echoes and distant screams of pain, shrieks for mercy. Hopelessness and damnation and horror._

" _Sam!" he howled, eyes filling with stinging tears. Where was Sammy? Where was he? "Saaaam!" Oh God, where was—_

_His mind went black._

_He opened his eyes to see a grinning monster above him, eyes white and dead, a razor in hand. As the first brutal slice went through his chest, he screamed a name he didn't know._

" _Cas!"_

_His voice was drowned by surrounding screams. He would never be heard in the madness. Never be found._

" _CAAAAAS!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • It’s not mentioned in the story, but we imagined Gail and Sam went to see [Venus in Fur”](http://goo.gl/Vxqet) on Broadway.  
> • [The angel Azazel](http://goo.gl/DULVm) was the leader of the [Watchers](http://goo.gl/S4gDS), who fell to mate with human women (seems like Azazel was responsible for turning men into jerks and women into sluts, in a way.) For our purposes, he becomes the leader of Hell for a time. And as he declared himself Meg’s father in Season 1, we decided to find a Biblical counterpart for her – [Melca](http://goo.gl/Ai4dK), who has literally no history but has interesting connections with others. The sister she references is Naamah; one of Samael's wives had the same name but was not the same person.  
> • Among all the parts to be played in the Grail themes of this story, Meg’s was [always](http://goo.gl/r4N4I) [meant to](http://goo.gl/43Q3y) [be the](http://goo.gl/wwC1n) [Loathly](http://goo.gl/CHfVI) [Damsel](http://goo.gl/nXOX8). The metaphor changes depending on the version you find, but the idea that she is responsible for a man’s right to rule a kingdom and that he must in some way bind himself to her, is a large part of our story (more will be explained). Also, the idea that the Loathly Damsel is twofold – both hideous and beautiful – and that she must be allowed to choose which she wants to be, is very much our Meg.  
> • See the history of the phrase [“pleased as Punch”.](http://goo.gl/gzQRl)  
> • Though technically [the sword](http://goo.gl/YpJvj) [Clarent](http://goo.gl/nTyL3) was regarded as peaceful and ceremonial, how could we resist making it mean a little bit more? Here’s some extra [Grail legend info](http://goo.gl/pBMkN), including more about the broken sword, bleeding lance, etc.  
> • The [six Gates of Hell](http://goo.gl/h3Dx2) are taken from a History Channel special.  
> • ( **Note from QW:** We are not using Dante’s _Inferno_ as a template for the [Greek underworld](http://goo.gl/KqyMI) in this story. The mythology of Hades is a personal specialty. Things in the story that may differ from what is read in the links online – especially regarding the areas and rivers – come from years of my own research and a library full of books that I can’t link to. Here is more about [the Nekromantion](http://goo.gl/VyIka) and [some more](http://goo.gl/zYNHj) [photos of](http://goo.gl/xIccd) [the tunnel below](http://goo.gl/OD5ef), as well as some general information about [Charon](http://goo.gl/YKrOg) and [Cerberus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerberus). The trick used on Cerberus comes from Apuleius’ [_“Eros and Psyche”_](http://goo.gl/jnHZK). )


	11. PART III - CHAPTER 10: Look At the Time; Section (b) "In the Spotlight"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which terrible tests are passed while crossing an ancient Hell, a modern Hell, and in facing an old foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence and torture in this chapter.

Hell was a monstrous hive filled with millions upon millions of cells, each packed with the foul honey of blood and gore. Each human soul within those cells a larva mutating into a demon. Castiel passed them all; none were the one he sought. Swirling black smoke, the crushed and sifted remains of souls after eons of torture, those turned demon buzzed in hatred, eager to escape the hive and poison the living.

The entire garrison met surprisingly little resistance from these demons; they ran or hid in whatever hole could be found. Angels were no longer a thing they understood. All the celestials which once resided in Hell had vanished now, save Lucifer. He was locked in the furthest, coldest corner, far from Heaven's light, and could not be allowed to break free of his cage.

The garrison _must_ find the Righteous Man. Stop him from breaking the seal, stop the apocalypse.

But finding him was proving next to impossible. The hive went on and on forever deeper, a maze of madness in every direction. Each level broken through led to another; beneath, behind, beyond space and possibly time. A soul could be lost for eternity... which was the point.

The angels ripped their way through chambers of fire and blood, filth and rot, hooks and chains. They ignored the pain and suffering of all they passed. Their only concern was the Righteous Man.

And while Castiel was focused as a laser on his task, part of him quailed at his surroundings. _How could humans exist forever enduring such unspeakable horrors? How could they create this for themselves? Why would anyone choose to fall into Hell when they could rise into Heaven and be spared such agony?_

_If he could prevent this suffering, he would. But it was not his place…_

Across the path stood a man in knee-deep water, freezing, trembling. Thin and starved, every bone in his body was visible beneath shrunken flesh. He reached shaky hands above to the fruit on a lush, fully laden tree, aching for the taste, and the branches pulled away as he cried out in hunger. Reaching down, the man cupped his hands to drink of the water but it too retreated, leaving him weeping with thirst. He could never hope to move away or seek relief, his legs and feet encased in the stone of the the ground-

_-buried in stone… legs and hands… being ripped free with a powerful yank, flesh and muscle shredding, blood pouring out like liquid fire-_

Castiel stumbled and fell into the shallow water of a river long drained to only a trickle. The slickness of blood on his hands and feet was only water. There was no man, and no tree with impossible fruit, only a blackened, dead trunk with brittle branches like skeletal fingers clawing the air.

He staggered away from the spot, fearing for his safety. He had a mission; there was a man he must find.

Another soul came into view. Groaning, this soul—in the visage of a trembling man- pushed a stone bigger than his body up a steep hill. His knees bled from the many times he'd fallen, hands scraped raw from jagged edges of rock. His heart struggled near to bursting, blood dripping from his nose from the strain. A hint of relief crossed his face when he neared the top, but the stone slipped away as though nudged by an unseen force. It tumbled past Castiel down the hill. The man wept openly with frustration and sorrow as he trudged past the angel, wanting to rest, unable to stop. He put his shoulder against the stone and began to push once more.

Castiel moaned, caught himself before he slipped over the edge of the sharp slope he'd unknowingly climbed. To fall would mean death, he knew this. Though how could it be? _Nothing could kill an angel but another angel..._

He crawled downward cautiously, fear making his heartbeat echo in the vast cave.

That had not been the Righteous Man Castiel sought. _Where was he?..._

Scarcely making a sound, throat useless from screaming, a man hung strapped to a wheel of fire, its red-hot spikes searing through skin and bone as it spun endlessly like a chainsaw. The man was burnt almost beyond recognition, charred flesh stinking the air. When he at last breathed no more, the wheel stopped, the flames died down. Another blink of earthly time and the soul was healed and fully alive, pitifully aware of what had transpired but powerless from stopping it from occurring again. And again it did as the wheel began to move, slowly at first, making him scream in fresh pain. The flames ignited, the barbs ripped-

_-flames like lightning… crackling across icy steel bars, searing skin… his body stretched across an endless sword edge, broken and screaming and cursing the name of-_

Castiel fled. He could not endure the sights, the sounds, the smells.

_The memories._

Castiel reached for his blade, ready to battle through the walls again, to hack and slash his way through yet another cell, past yet another soul, to do what he must to find the Righteous Man. It must have been decades since they'd entered and the garrison was flung far and wide through Hell, searching desperately. Time was running out…

He saw a man lying chained to a stone, wailing in agony as sharp talons ripped open his gut, as organs were devoured. He lay bleeding, dying. Not allowed to die. His body healed itself, to be torn again and again… But just beyond him...

_There. At last **.**_

* * *

Dean was pressed into a tiny cell small as a coffin. The walls had been carved from ice this time, scorching into his bones until the joints cracked with every tiny movement. Even breathing had become torture as his lungs filled with shards of ice, tearing until he choked on blood and stopped trying altogether. When the door to the cell opened, finally, _finally,_ he collapsed like a block of wood, the brittle sheet of his skin shattering, organs spilling across the floor and skidding away, shapeless cubes of ice. Whatever the demon requested, he would do just to spare himself a return to the frozen torment.

Thawing, the heat of the larger cell felt like a furnace in comparison. Alastair's feet approached his line of vision. It was time to move. Gathering up his heart, stomach, and liver, he stuffed them back into his body, and accepted the hand Alastair offered to help him stand. Dean was led, almost gently, toward the rack where the next victim lay panting in fear.

With a smile, Dean licked his lips, eager to begin his work. The better he did, the longer he ws free of the smaller cell. His fingertips grazed lovingly across the table covered in tools: blades, razors, spikes, wire… everything he would need to dissect and flay the soul before him.

To start he chose the simplest item – a knife. The first cut always hurt the most because you never knew exactly how it was going to feel until it was slicing into your flesh. When you understood that, your mind became prepared for more and the challenge for the torturer was to… surprise you. Dean was becoming very good at surprises.

Dean ran his hands across the body of the soul as it whimpered and pleaded for mercy, reveling in his talent to bring out pleasure and pain in nearly equal measure. A quick pat here, a sharp slice there. A gentle rub, a vicious stab. Dean was becoming an artist.

Relaxing into a rhythm, he took bits and pieces away from the body, hung them on hooks as gruesome decorations, listened with ever-increasing delight at its screams and prayers. His fingers slipped momentarily as he plucked out the left eyeball and he stooped to retrieve it, intending to feed it to the soul, clamp its jaws together, let the jelly fill its mouth…

When there came a light so bright his own eyes nearly singed in their sockets.

A great screeching howling roar, greater than all the birds and lions and bulls that ever lived on earth, pierced the air. Blades of pure light tore the roof of the cell open, cleaving through as though it were paper. Dean felt the pain of it – this was his cell, made of his body and soul. He screamed nearly as loudly as the alien creature reaching into the room.

Alastair had fled-he didn't know where- and Dean scrambled back away from the thing that was like a burning star. He tried to retreat to the smaller cell, to slam it closed, but a hand – _hands_ , _how many hands did it have?_ – grasped him tight and dragged him upward. They flew faster than any earthly wind, punching through cell after cell, and Dean knew fear for the first time in decades. He screamed, slashing with the knife he still held, but the creature was unfazed.

"What are you?" he howled as it wrapped itself around him entirely, absorbing his soul. "Where are you taking me? Put me back!"

 _No, Dean Winchester_ , the creature's voice thrummed through Dean's soul, _you are going back to earth._

"No!" he cried in terror, struggling anew with the white light, but it would not release him. "Take me back to my cell! That's where I belong!"

 _You are mistaken_ , the creature said, gentle but firm.

It wrapped him tighter, cocooning him. Dean felt himself growing numb and tired. There was no pain in the embrace. It was foreign, confusing, frightening. Pain was all he knew, it was normal and right, and this wasn't pain… it was joy, caring, warmth.

He lost awareness of himself for a moment, then opened his eyes to realize he actually _had_ no eyes. The body he'd had in Hell was never a body at all. That illusion had disappeared. His soul, bright though damaged, twined with the whiteness of the creature that held him. It was renewing and healing him, casting out the taint of decades of torture. Dean felt an instant of emotion that'd been unfamiliar even on Earth. _Love_. Yes, he remembered what love was now…

And so he simply knew, in a rush – it was an angel holding him tight.

… _He sighed into its breath, allowed himself to be stroked by its many hands, kissed the faces that gazed upon his with their many blue eyes. The brush of powerful wings, like steel and feather and radiance, stroked him. It was beautiful beyond words and Dean wished he could tell it so. It didn't speak again, just soothed, cradled, touched him everywhere at once, until Dean was ready to let go and become one with it…_

Then he felt his body again, lying in a small space, dark and cold. He whimpered, "No, no, it was a dream, I'm in the cell, it wasn't real." It was the worst punishment he'd ever had – hope and comfort, a belief he'd been saved by an angel. A false hope.

But he was not alone. The angel was still there, only less visible now. It caressed his body all over, as though to be sure all was present and whole, and he could tell it was readying to leave him for certain. His heart throbbed in fear. Wherever he was, it was too close, too cold and damp, he couldn't be there alone. "Please," he whispered, "don't leave me," and raised his right hand to touch it. In the tight space, he could only lift it far enough to slide it over his chest and grasp the creature's form where it still held his left shoulder. The energy of their connection sizzled through them both, startling even the angel as it pulled away from him.

Dean's arm pulsed with pain and his eyes pricked with tears as the angel disappeared. Then he lost all awareness.

When he woke, he was in a coffin, buried in the soil of Illinois.

* * *

Castiel felt Dean rip from his grasp and watched him disappear into the mists of the underworld.

They'd escaped from the influence of Phlegethon, and the ghostly imprints of ancient souls in Tartarus where he'd unexpectedly stumbled… and now they were separated again. A great rolling fog enveloped Castiel as he shouted for Dean but got no answer.

He'd remembered the rescue from perdition, experienced it every bit as clearly as Dean had. Never since returning from the dead into his mortal body had Castiel wanted so badly to shed his skin and become that angel again, because it would mean finding Dean and escaping this place and the memories it seemed determined to unearth.

_How long had they been in the underworld? A day? Two? A century?_

There was nothing for it but to press on and pray he would find Dean before they both went mad.

* * *

As he walked the sky cleared, birds began to sing, and foliage grew under his feet. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky. The grass was almost unnaturally green, kept beautiful and pristine by the memory of the soul. A simple man with a clear and simple view of the world, standing happily in his heaven, flying a kite in a well-manicured yard surrounded by trimmed shrubs and beds of flowers. A single perfect afternoon, enjoyed for all time.

Castiel knew this place; it was a heaven he visited whenever he had a chance. He never interfered, was never even noticed, which was fine by him. It was peaceful in a way that few other heavens seemed; more peaceful than earth, certainly. He sat on the stone bench beneath the trees and sighed comfortably.

If Castiel closed his vessel's eyes, concentrated, opened his dozens of angelic eyes, he could see across the heavens. See almost all of them, in their static happiness. Each soul separate from others but for the few who were joined in some deeper way than any angel could break apart.

Sam and Dean Winchester were two of those and it made Castiel smile to know. They were stronger for it, and it was this strength that made them exactly what humanity needed to stop earth's destruction. He was proud to have met them.

Castiel sometimes traveled through other heavens, observing, curious about their inhabitants and how the heavens worked. He could remember, very hazily, a time in the beginning when souls moved about more freely, sharing paradise. He wasn't completely sure why that had changed but he vaguely recalled it had been something to do with free will – people, at their core, felt a need to be _right_ and this feeling couldn't be maintained when faced with other people who also wanted to be right, thus making it possible to be _wrong_. Perfect happiness didn't mesh with being wrong.

Opinions and beliefs had somehow divided people in heaven as they did on earth. It seemed odd to Castiel, who believed that paradise was simply paradise, equal and pleasurable for all.

As he gazed up at the colorful kite, he frowned. It didn't seem right separating those who truly loved one another, who had spent a lifetime together. More often than not they would spend eternity apart. And they never knew it.

Or almost never. Sometimes they sensed the wrongness and for a few moments now and then… they _flinched_. The repeating loop of happy memories faltered, and like a person under hypnosis would begin to waken. It didn't take long for things to right themselves, for the system in place to return the souls to stasis.

There were a few cases that clung to their knowledge, being far too clever in their lives to lose that after death. An acquaintance of the Winchesters, in particular, had cracked out of his own heaven and found ways to join other heavens together. It was inspired. Castiel admired that tenacity and creativity. But that was the real problem wasn't it, that heavens were so stringently kept apart that it would take a renegade to break through. There were no means of asking an angel to help, and in fact Castiel knew no angel would. They were forbidden.

He frowned harder. When had that come to be? He'd never heard it specifically stated, it was simply the way things were… The archangels had determined it was better for the souls… it was easier for…

For _themselves_. They were left to guard heaven and the souls within it, but Father had gone away and they had no instructions. Humans were confusing, emotional where the angels were not, and angels didn't like change. Even angels who had not fallen sometimes sympathized with Lucifer's views on humans – they were lesser beings. And with so many humans wandering free in heaven, which belonged to angels first... if souls were confined to smaller areas, given a safe and happy environment… they would leave the angels alone…

Castiel realized with a start, that Heaven and Hell were the same. Full of cells. The only difference was in pleasure versus pain. Otherwise they were identical. Souls were drugged against reality, drugged as though by a djinn's touch.

He stood from the bench in a rush. _This_ _was_ _wrong_ , very wrong. Humans were not meant to be penned like cattle, kept complacent and unaware. His Father would be appalled at what his angelic children were doing. Humans had been given free will and it was not the place of angels to take it away. _This must stop…_

Stomping across the lawn, Castiel found himself suddenly in darkness. The terrain was rough, the grasses dry and dead, no souls were visible anywhere, not even the kite-flying man.

That's right. He was in the Greek underworld, searching for a way to Hell…

And Dean was still missing.

Frantically, he raised the blade Clarent and begged it for guidance. It glowed softly golden, the rays of its light angling to the left.

Castiel trod swiftly across the crunching grass and back onto the pathway. He'd passed through the Asphodel Meadows, where souls had spent eternity in a neutral state without care or emotion, and into the Elysian Fields. As close to Heaven as one got in the underworld. But where Heaven locked people away, the Fields had allowed them to roam and share with others. That was how Heaven ought to be.

The Winchesters would want it that way, too. Dean himself had declared he would take the pain of earth over being a 'Stepford Bitch' in Heaven. Castiel, now human himself, thought he could understand. Life was hardly perfect on earth, but when it was joyful he was happier than he'd ever been in Heaven. Part of being human was experiencing sorrow and to have it taken away entirely wasn't… _normal_. How could you enjoy eternity when it didn't feel normal? How could you understand pleasure without pain to compare it with? Joy and sorry were inseparable.

If he could have, he would change the way Heaven worked. _If only he had the power…_

* * *

Squinting, disoriented, Castiel stepped from the darkness into bright light. Florescent light. The scent of artificial fragrance hung heavy in the air. To his left, a gleaming glass counter covered with various bottles of perfume. To the right, racks of women's clothing. Signs everywhere, a sea of neon yellow and red, screaming prices. People bustled to and fro self-importantly.

" _I want to get this for mom."_

The voice was very near behind, and Castiel whirled around in surprise. The boy was perhaps thirteen. He held a necklace – a chain dangling a hunk of amber cut in a heart shape – up for inspection by the man that accompanied him.

" _What for, kiddo? It's not your mom's birthday or anything… is it?"_

"Dean!" Castiel said breathlessly, reaching out to grab the man's shoulder, but to his horror his hand passed right through. Dean continued the conversation with the boy, completely unaware as Castiel fell to the ground.

Cas scrabbled upwards, desperate and confused. He tried once more, curling his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Dean's neck – though never said, he knew Dean enjoyed it greatly, especially when Castiel scraped with his nails – but passed through again. With a start Castiel realized this was Dean's vision, not his, and he would have to watch the scene unfold, helpless to interact.

Dean smiled at the boy, who returned it with one that was jarringly similar. Which would make this boy-

"Ben," Castiel breathed, a sudden rush of memory making him sway.

Dean had mentioned in passing – with an incredibly simplistic _you don't wanna know about_ _it_ – that he'd lived with a woman before. But Castiel's amnesia was still in full force then and since that time Dean still hadn't bothered to fill in the details. Only now on his own, witnessing Dean's own memories, did Castiel recall riding in the Impala… away from Stull Cemetery on the way to Indiana and Lisa... Dean had once thought the boy might be his own child. Looking Ben, it was no surprise to see why.

Cas sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. If they could escape the underworld, he would have to confront Dean for more details of that year with the Braedens. When he reopened his eyes, Ben and Dean were still conferring over the necklace.

"No, it's not her birthday," Ben reassured. "It just made me think of her. Mom says that there doesn't have to be a special occasion to do something nice for someone."

Dean's relief was obvious, but the sudden upswelling of pride in his eyes directed at Lisa's child made something constrict within Castiel's chest.

"Your mom's right, you know," Dean replied. "If you want to get it for her, I'll buy it."

"Really?"

Ben's expression as he stared up at Dean was foreign to Castiel; he hadn't much experience with children in general, and viewing them in one-on-one situations hardly at all. The tightness in his chest compounded into a twisting pain when he realized the expression was paternal devotion. While Castiel had been away conducting heavenly business, trying to save the world again, Dean had been enjoying this private life. Had _chosen_ to live with the Braedens, and acted for all intents and purposes as husband and father.

"This isn't happening," Castiel reminded himself in a murmur. "It's just a memory…" Which meant they were in the zone of Mnemosyne and Lethe; memory and oblivion. "It's in the past," he said again. " _They_ are his _past_." Guilt welled inside at the thought of consigning Ben to Dean's past just to make himself feel better, but it was true.

Resigned, he followed Ben and Dean as they purchased the necklace, had it wrapped, and left the shop. He sat unnoticed in the back seat of a car he didn't recognize as Dean drove them home. He tried, once or twice, to manipulate items – turning on the radio, cracking a window – to no avail. And eventually they arrived at the Braeden residence.

As Ben and Dean chatted happily to each other while gathering packages, Castiel couldn't help comparing the modern house in front of him with the quirky antiquated duplex. He wondered briefly if this was the type of place Dean preferred. When they'd moved into the duplex, Dean had called it the weirdest house on earth, seemed to accept it as a decent enough place to be at least temporarily. Then they'd never left. He thought Dean had grown to love the place but seeing the neat powder blue two-storey house with white trim, tidy shrubs and decorative hanging plants on the porch, so similar to the houses on either side… Cas began to wonder.

It was some moments before he realized, while he'd been staring at the house, Dean and Ben were nearly inside the front door. He scrambled to follow, not knowing if he'd be able to simply pass through it even while in his insubstantial state, and not wanting to be separated from Dean yet again. He squeezed past the boy, feeling the draft of the door shutting behind them, sensing the wood brush against him at the last moment. How strange this zone was, that he could touch objects but not people. And he was desperate to touch Dean. Perhaps that was the point.

"We're home!" Dean called out cheerily as they passed through the (simple but stylishly designed) living room and into the kitchen. The woman of the house was at the counter, slicing fruit, tossing it into a small ceramic bowl. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, small wisps escaping along the edges. She looked tired but happy, in a way that Castiel recognized as someone who'd spent a productive day at home, cleaning and tidying and cooking. He knew the feeling, and how satisfying it was to make the brothers' lives easier even in that small way. And this woman had done the same for Dean for a year.

"You guys are back quick!" Lisa exclaimed, putting down her pruning knife and turning to give Ben a one-armed hug. Dean stepped forward and accepted a kiss at the same time, and a jealousy unlike any Castiel had ever known embroiled him. For those brief seconds, as they all touched one another with gestures of love, clearly a family in every way that mattered… Castiel's heart ached. How could he compete with this? And when had it become a competition in his mind?

"Did they have the shoes Ben needed for soccer?"

"Right here," Dean lifted a bag in illustration, giving Lisa a warm smile. She returned it with a grin that faded into slight, though unworried, confusion when Ben announced, "We got you something too, mom!"

"Me? But..." Her large dark eyes met Dean's, asking for an explanation, and Dean just chuckled. "Okay, what did you guys do?" she said with a little tilt of her lips.

"Oh, don't drag me into it," Dean insisted. "It was all Ben's idea."

"But Dean paid for it! That makes it half his gift, too!"

"Dude! You weren't supposed to tell her that!"

"I wasn't going to take all the credit, Dean. 'Sides, mom'll know my allowance wouldn't have covered it."

Lisa planted her hands on her hips, becoming mock stern. "Guys..."

Sighing, Castiel sat at the Braedens' dinette table, suddenly tired. Ben triumphantly reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out the colorfully wrapped package with a grin. Lisa took it and drifted over to the table, sitting directly across from Castiel. Dean's attention was riveted on Lisa's hands, his mouth half curled in a lazy sort of half-smile as Lisa picked at the gift.

There were two types of people, Dean once told him, when it came to opening presents. Those who rip open their packages and let the pieces fall where they may, eager to get to the treat underneath, and those who take their time, slip their fingers under the tape and allow themselves to linger, to relish the entire experience. Castiel was mildly surprised to see that Lisa, like himself, was a lingerer. At Christmas, he'd driven Dean _'nutso'_ by unwrapping each package corner by clumsily-folded corner. It made him uncomfortable to think he had something in common with his erstwhile rival.

"Oh," Lisa said, as she finally popped open the hinged box, "guys, this is beautiful." Her eyes pricked with sudden tears. "Thank you." The sincerity of her emotion was clear.

Castiel stared down at his folded hands, unable to watch any longer. His bracelet, the one Dean had given him on Christmas, encircled his wrist. Despite being in a hurry to leave on their underworld journey, Castiel had still put it on, the habit now ingrained. The blue enamel on the _hamsa_ eye seemed to glow. Jewelry, it seemed, was a common element in gift giving to those Dean had claimed as _his_.

Maybe… Dean had felt more for him, for longer than he'd imagined. The amulet –he touched the burn scar on his chest – had been relinquished with relatively little argument, even being a treasured item he surely wouldn't have parted with for just _anyone_. Almost as though Dean _wanted_ to hand it over to Cas… But still, it probably didn't count in the same way as the bracelet. One was something Castiel had demanded, the other was given as a gesture unto itself.

Fingering the soft leather band, Castiel told himself that Dean was _his_ now, that everything he was seeing was long past, that they were in Hell and this pain was to be expected, that the overall similarity of gifts meant nothing…

Dean tugged Lisa to her feet, right by Castiel. "C'mon."

"Dean, what-?"

"Just come with me to the living room," Dean said with a teasing smile. The same smile used to charm Castiel and probably a hundred others into submitting to Dean's wishes. It was a powerful smile. So it was only with a mild sense of surprise Castiel heard Lisa protest: "No, Dean, dinner is-"

"Dinner will keep for ten more minutes, won't it?" Dean's lips quirked up just a bit more on the right side than the left. Yes, Lisa would be agreeing to whatever it was Dean wanted.

Castiel waited a moment to follow, not sure he wanted to see everything. When he entered the room, it was to see Lisa lifting her hair away from her neck, which Dean kissed as he closed the clasp of the necklace. He whispered something near her ear, and she laughed. Lisa's laugh wasn't one of those tiny, tinkling giggles designed to entice men in bars, not like so many of Dean's past female partners. Hers was a full laugh, unabashed, comfortable. She was entirely herself with Dean and he was clearly appreciative of that fact. Ben perched on the edge of the sofa, pretending to be 'grossed out' by their behavior but obviously secretly relishing every move. Castiel could practically feel the boy's contentment, easily matched by adults'. It was happiness and it was _real..._

At that moment, Castiel knew this wasn't a random memory from Dean's time with Lisa. It was a slice of Dean's personal heaven. The irony of it being also in hell was not lost on Castiel; it just provided further evidence for his theory – the two realms were not as dissimilar as humans would like to believe.

Dean, obviously feeling free and loose, turned on a nearby radio to play some kind of jazzy music and swung Lisa into his arms as she laughed again. They danced slowly, just smiling and talking softly, as Ben dug through a pile of DVDs to choose a movie for the evening. The scent of their dinner burning split the dancing couple apart. Castiel watched as they bustled around the kitchen, laughing and complaining and preparing a new meal.

Things were moving too slowly, and they had a limited time to get through the underworld. In frustration, Cas screamed at Dean while they ate. Surprisingly, the lights flickered in the room, and Dean glanced up at the fixtures, eyes narrowed, before shrugging and returning to his mashed potatoes. Castiel very nearly wept, but now he had a small hope. If he could affect one tiny thing he might, in time, get through to Dean. He _had_ to.

Dishes cleared, they piled into the living room again. Castiel watched his lover's arm encircling the woman, pulling her tight as they sat snuggled on the sofa. He thought of all the times they'd done the same. The boy lay on his stomach atop a bean bag cushion to their right, and together they watched a movie (with fewer explosions than Dean usually preferred). Castiel pushed his insubstantial energy towards the television, hoping to make the channel change or even just to make the picture flicker, but exhaustion was creeping upon him and he couldn't affect a single thing.

Then Ben was packed off to his room for the night. And Lisa reached out for Dean's hand. A coy yet sweet smile on her lips, she whispered, "Time for bed."

 _No_. No, Castiel couldn't —he couldn't watch Dean relive _that._

But he couldn't help himself following upstairs to the bedroom door. Lisa led Dean inside and carefully shut it behind them. Castiel was barred now, being physically affected by the house if not the people. His knees gave way and he leaned against the wall, slowly sinking to the floor. Clarent, where he was strapped to Castiel's side, pulsed faintly in what seemed to be sympathy, but the last thing he wanted was a platitude from a semi-sentient sword fragment. He pressed his hands against his ears, trying to shut out the small sounds that carried through the quiet of the nighttime house. The hush of bedding being turned back, the low groan of weight sinking into a mattress, the slide of skin against skin as they settled together.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, denying what Dean was remembering, what he was doing behind that door…

When he opened them again, he was once more in the department store.

" _I want to get this for my mom."_

Ben was holding the pendant, and cocking his head toward Dean, who asked, "What for, kiddo? It's not your mom's birthday or anything...is it?"

Castiel watched in horror as the now familiar scene replayed before his eyes again. In a trance, he followed them from the purchase counter to the wrapping center, from the wrapping center to the car, from the car to the house. He watched as once again they gave Lisa her gift, as Dean took her to dance in the living room, as they ruined their dinner and remade it. The entire day replayed itself, right down to Lisa offering her perfect, soft hand to Dean and taking him upstairs to their bedroom. Once more Cas sat outside the door, and when the low noises coming from within were too much for him, he turned away and began to walk back down the stairs. Between one step and the next the scene shifted on him, and he stomped much too hard onto the tiled floor of the department store, expecting a step that wasn't there.

" _I want to get this for my mom."_

A low sob burned the back of Castiel's throat but he refused to give it voice. Instead, he grew angry.

"Dean!" he shouted, inches from the hunter's ear. "We have to leave! You have to snap out of it!" There was no response. Castiel was less than a ghost in this memory.

He went through the day again, becoming angrier and more desperate. He managed to affect the environment more this time – the television flickered briefly, the music they danced changed from jazz to rock and roll – but Dean seemed to brush off the anomaly and the memory continued without further hitch.

Over and over, they lived the routine. Castiel wondered if he ought to give up, call Meg for help. He had no idea how long they'd been in the underworld, and he had a dreadful feeling that the more Dean repeated his memory the more likely he was to be stuck forever in the loop. Or possibly wear down to a final thread which would snap and drag Dean into true obliviousness. But the thought of Meg seeing Castiel crumbling due to Dean's saccharine memories with a past lover prevented him from calling her.

The memory played on and on, though thankfully with minor changes. Dean began to look tired, and sometimes confused like he'd nearly awakened. These moments kept Castiel from utter despair. Once he was able to turn on the car radio. Another time the store failed to have the shoes Ben needed and the trip was shortened. It must have been the twentieth repetition when something significant happened.

Dean and Lisa's impromptu dance was interrupted by the burnt dinner and Lisa was turning to the kitchen to prepare new food. But suddenly Dean tugged open an end table drawer and waved a pile of take-out menus.

"Pizza, Chinese, or burgers n' wings?" he grinned.

Castiel sat down heavily on a chair in the corner of the room, shocked but hopeful. He watched closely, carefully noting all new movements.

They got Asian takeaway, and sat in a loose semi-circle on the living room floor, digging through the boxes with plastic forks, sharing bites of everything with one another. Then they opened their fortune cookies.

Lisa read hers aloud. "May you live in interesting times," she scrunched up her nose. "Isn't that supposed to be a curse or something?"

Dean's brows drew together as well. "Yeah... Why the hell would they use that as a fortune?" Shrugging, he turned to Ben. "What's yours?"

The boy opened his. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

"That's more like it," Dean beamed. "Okay, mine now…"

It was like watching through a lens made of honey, thick and slow and slightly out-of-focus, as Dean cracked open the cookie with a boom. The paper slip pulled free with a deafening rustle, scraping on the broken edges. The lights in the room dimmed but it seemed a spotlight was focused on Dean's form.

His voice was hollow and distant as he read:

" _Never walk in the darkness alone…"_

Dean's back stiffened and he blinked slowly, eyes darting around in confusion. Lisa and Ben were frozen in place, a movie put on pause. Dean's jaw clenched, a hint of panic glinting in his eyes.

"I wasn't alone. The darkness, it came, but I had… I stepped through and… _Cas."_

Breathing the name like a prayer, Dean lifted his eyes and for the briefest of moments saw Castiel before blackness enshrouded them both. There was a hiss like a struck match, and Excalibur flared to life at Dean's feet where it had lain all along.

* * *

It was as though the air itself had become a tangible element, a fog of pure _darkness_. Even with the light of Excalibur there was no piercing it. Dean trembled, but held the sword as steady as he could.

"Cas!" he called out, receiving an echo as answer. The blackness was so thick he worried he would choke on it though it didn't physically oppress. "Come on, Cas. Show me where you are."

In response to the plea, Excalibur pulsed once, its light spearing forward like a torch. He would simply have to let it lead him like a diving rod. Walking carefully, unable to actually see the ground itself, Dean made his way through the pitch black until, finally, he saw a smudge of light. "Cas!" he shouted again, and this time heard a faint responding "Dean!"

They stumbled toward one another, pushing through the blackness, until the glow of their blades met and grew large enough to encompass them both in a pool of golden light.

They stood for a moment, panting with relief, sweating from fear, but didn't reach for each other. Finally Castiel sighed, tucking Clarent into his thigh sheath and turned away. "Come on," he muttered gruffly, "we're in Erebus and it's not going to get any lighter. We still have to deal with Cocytus as well, so let's get it over with."

Dean frowned as Castiel brushed by him, then slid Excalibur into its scabbard and turned to keep up in case the blackness separated them again. "Hey, where were you?"

Castiel snorted. "Right there, watching. You couldn't see me, but I saw everything."

Dean winced. He honestly hadn't been able to see Castiel, hadn't even realized he was experiencing a memory until just moments ago. Cas surely knew that and yet was pissed… _Oh. Yeah, he probably would be, considering what he'd seen._ Before he could open his mouth to say anything, Castiel spoke.

"Do you regret leaving Lisa?" Dean blinked. It was Cas's typical rip-the-bandage-off way of attacking problems, but Dean wasn't yet prepared. While he waffled, Castiel continued, "Do you wish you were still with her? With Ben?"

It would be a lie to say he didn't miss the Braedens, and that he regretted how they'd parted. The last time Dean had laid eyes on them, he'd left while Ben declared he was leaving family behind. Dean felt a twinge of sadness at the memory, at the look on Ben's face as he walked out of their lives for good.

Now Dean was suddenly angry. "Yeah, it was home for me, at a time when I was at the end of my rope. I miss it. What about you? Feeling homesick yourself? Wish you could shove me off and fly back to heaven?"

Cas halted with a lurch and turned to stare at Dean. An edge of angelic intensity flamed in his blue eyes as he stared Dean down, taking satisfaction in Dean's tiny twitch. "No. I wouldn't have left you to the Braedens in the first place if Heaven hadn't been in chaos, tearing itself apart from the inside."

"Maybe if you'd come to me for help with that shit, you wouldn't have made such stupid fucking decisions." Dean felt bile welling in the back of his throat as his anger rose unaccountably.

Castiel seemed to share that emotion. His voice was sharp as a blade. "Stupid? Because I didn't clear those plans with you first? I thought you were the Righteous Man, Dean, not God. Would you like me to drop to my knees and beg forgiveness again, for wanting to _save_ _the_ _world_ for you? For risking my life every moment we were apart just to protect you? To protect what Sam _died_ for?"

Bringing Sam into the argument was a mistake. A haze of red fell over Dean's vision. "That was worth eating _monster_ _souls_ for, I guess. Turning yourself into a freaking junkie. Just like what Sam did, huh? Would you have thrown yourself into hell, too?"

And something inside Castiel snapped, almost audibly. The eerie angelic calm he'd clung to stripped away, leaving only the man who'd been living in Kansas with Dean for most of a year. Angry, and wounded to the core. "Yes, you idiot. We're in hell right now, if you haven't noticed. I'd have done anything for you. Everything. I _did_ do everything for you! I _still_ do." His chest was heaving, the pulse in his throat fluttering.

"I'm not worth that, you stupid son of a bitch." Swallowing and tearing his eyes away from the pain on Cas's face, Dean said roughly, "I never have been." His own eyes slid shut as he said, "I didn't ask you to drink souls. I didn't ask you to listen to Balthazar's fucking plan to make deals with Crowley. _Nothing_ is worth that, you hear me? Least of all _me_."

Castiel said lowly, voice positively burning, "So my sacrifice was wasted? I'll decide who is _worthy_ of me, Dean."

There was a tense moment of silence, brittle and dangerous. Dean had the impression that if he broke it with the wrong words that something irreparable might come between he and Cas, and a not-so-small part of him wanted to push it there, to drive Castiel to that edge. So he said, "Is Meg _worthy_ of you, Cas?"

The former angel had been half in motion towards him, Dean saw when he opened his eyes. A long-fingered hand was reaching out for him, was hovering just over the burn on his shoulder. At those words, though, Castiel stopped, a look of such honest befuddlement creasing his brows that Dean felt the need to add, "Was Balthazar ever _worthy_?"

Puzzled, Cas said, "Dean, what are you-"

"Would you go through Heaven or Hell or Purgatory or wherever the fuck that bastard is rotting and save _him_ too, Cas? Huh?"

Castiel dropped his arm, shock on his features. He might not have even known Balthazar was dead until this moment, Dean realized, because the other angel had never been discussed between them.

Almost contrite, but mostly morose, Dean said softly, "He was in love with you, you know that, right?" A hesitant nod was his answer. Dean had wondered if Castiel was unaware of the really freaking obvious torch Balthazar carried but now he knew. "Fuck. God knows he'd be more grateful than me if you went to save him. So would you? If you knew where he was?"

Ominously, Castiel didn't answer immediately. Then he said, "If I knew where he was and how to save him, then...yes. I probably would."

A low grinding sound filled his ears, and it was only the pressure in his jaws that told Dean it was his teeth gritting together. Hands clenched so tightly they tingled, his entire body strung like a bow ready to snap, Dean saw Castiel's eyes slowly widen with realization.

"You killed him, didn't you?" Dean didn't say anything. He didn't have to; the truth, he was sure, was naked in his eyes. "You… how _could_ you, Dean? You knew… he was my friend, my brother."

"Because he-" Dean stopped. There was no explanation he could give that Cas would accept; he knew that if someone had killed Sammy how he'd feel about it. "What's it matter anyways?" Dean spit back. "Just go and get him. Find out where he is and go. You already said you would."

"Dean, if I could I would, I said that… but I can't. I'm only a man, just like you, remember? And… you're being pathetic."

" _Pathetic_?" Wetness prickled the edges of Dean's eyes, and he cursed himself. Only those he loved could do this to him. And his damned mouth just would not shut up. "Maybe the way Meg was _pathetic_ when she hung all over you and then shoved her tongue down your throat? You seemed to like that."

Castiel glared, snorting like a bull readying to charge. "Don't try to distract me by bringing her into this, Dean. What happened with Balthazar?"

Childishly, Dean said, "Just a _distraction_ , was she?"

"Dean..."

"As much as you slobbered on her just today? Seems like you want more than a kiss. You want to fuck her, don't you?"

Very coolly, Castiel replied, "What would you do if I did want to fuck her, Dean?" Moving sinuously closer, his voice doing that sexy dirty rumble, he said, "What would you say if I told you I wanted to push her against the wall… to have her wrap her legs around my waist, to have her hands-"

"She's never going to fucking _touch_ _you!_ " Dean roared, the blood rushing in his ears. He grabbed Cas's shoulders and shook him, voice trembling in rage. "Do you _hear_ _me_? That demon bitch-"

"Is _not_ what's _important_ here!" Castiel snarled back, shoving Dean away. "Stop being such a possessive asshole and tell me what you did to Balthazar, Dean!"

"You really want to know, Cas? _I killed that bastard_ , okay? Fucking moron threw himself right on the St. George lance, he _wanted_ to die. Gave me his own angel blade and I shoved it right through his fucking brain. And you know what? I _don't_ regret it! In fact, if I had the opportunity I'd do it again right this minute, if it meant he was never around to try to feed you souls and push you to make deals with Crowley!" Poking Cas in the chest with a finger, Dean added, "If it meant he never would have taken you to Meg… never let you get hooked on all that power that fucked your head up… I would have tried to kill the sonofabitch the first time I met him. _He took you to Crowley, Cas!_ "

Castiel was practically vibrating in rage. "Crowley was willing and actually _able_ to help me, Dean. Help me stop the apocalypse from restarting, help me continue the fight _you_ walked away from."

"He was in it _for_ _himself_ , just like everything else!" How this was still not clear to Castiel, Dean didn't know… but it seemed that the more memories Castiel recovered, the stronger his conviction that his actions had been correct, and that terrified Dean.

Desperately, he cried, "Crowley tried to take you away from me, and damn near succeeded!"

"He gave me what I needed, Dean!"

"He made you unleash the fucking _Leviathan_!"

"Raphael left me no choice! Behemoth was-"

" _I WAS YOUR CHOICE_!" Dean screamed. Panting, he said, "You should have come to _me_ , Cas, not that twisted demonic dick."

Stiffly, Castiel asked, "And what, exactly, could you _possibly_ have done?"

Dean clenched his jaw and fought the renewed tears in his eyes. "Not gotten you addicted to souls, for one," he croaked. "Not drag the Mother of All out of Purgatory. We would have found another way, Cas."

"Or all died in the process. All of us. This way..." Castiel looked down at his feet. "Balthazar's way meant that the only one at risk, really, was myself."

"And he just _let_ you do that. What a swell guy. Gee, really sorry I killed him now."

"He respected my wishes, Dean, which is more than I can say for you sometimes." The rebuke was sharp but the way it was said was not, easing some of the sting. "Why is it acceptable for you to risk your life but not me, mine? Because I was an angel. I was stronger, I could handle it…"

"You weren't handling _shit_ , Cas."

The former angel fell silent, looked shamed. Dean sighed. Well… they'd already torn into each other this far, they might as well lay everything all out on the table. "All right, what would have happened if I'd stayed out of it? Say you were successful… Would you be sitting on the shore of some island right now, sipping wine with Crowley?" Jealousy was an ugly thing, but sometimes Dean Winchester was an ugly person.

"Don't be absurd." Gratifyingly, Castiel said this as if it was a ridiculous notion, but Dean wasn't appeased that easily.

"Absurd? You're an _addict_ , Cas, and your drug of choice is power. Crowley, as much as I hate the fucker, I have to admit he has that."

"That was the past, Dean. If you haven't noticed, I'm a completely different person now, literally a different species. And even then I only did what I felt I had to do."

"Isn't that always the excuse? I bet the only reason you haven't had a soul fix before now was because you just didn't remember what it was like. I bet now that you do you're just itching to sink your teeth into a soul, aren't you?"

"Fuck you, Dean," Castiel spat, his eyes narrowed and glittering, on the brink of tears himself. "The only soul I want to touch is yours."

The hunter spread his hands wide, his stance challenging. "Then come on, Cas. I'm right here. Come suck me dry."

Cas flicked a brow and stalked closer, insinuating himself into Dean's personal space with the ease of long practice. Grasping the back of his neck, he pulled Dean close, their mouths crashing together in a violent flurry of lips, teeth and thrusting tongues.

Dean struggled with the collar of Castiel's shirt, as Cas's hips thrust in the crease of Dean's hip, thickening length tantalizingly close to his own growing hardness. The motion distracted Dean from the quest with buttons to grasp Cas's shirt in his fists and drag them both to the ground. It was cold, damp stone but neither of them gave a damn.

Tasting the sudden rich tang of blood, Dean wondered if he'd split Cas's lip as the other man flipped them, slamming Dean onto his back. Cas writhed atop him, moving like he wanted to shove himself straight through Dean, to squirm his way under Dean's skin and curl up next to his soul.

With a low growl, Dean twisted again until he was on top. His fingers finally popped open stubborn buttons and his mouth followed the line of freshly exposed skin of Cas's throat, licking and sucking a path to his collarbone. Castiel groaned and pushed upwards, their dicks pressing against one another, the feeling so hot and right even through denim.

"I don't care about power," Cas babbled. "I care about you. _You're_ my power, you're…" he gasped when Dean bit down on a nipple, soaking the fabric of his shirt. "At my lowest, you kept me going. Always _you_."

"Sorry, Cas, I'm such an ass," Dean broke away to murmur, nuzzling his nose into the warmth of Cas's neck. "I just… you mean… to me, you're…"

"You don't have to say it," Castiel breathed. "You-"

A loud rushing of air, like angel wings taking flight, interrupted them. Their ears filled with pressure, and Dean pulled away with a groan. What he saw when he lifted his head made the air catch in his throat.

"What the fuck-"

He was staring at himself.

_It was night in the scrap yard, a full battalion of stars dotting the sky above him. Dean lay on his back atop the Impala's hood, fingers swirling right over his heart, right where Castiel's fingers had danced the morning after their coupling, right where the angel had inscribed Enochian sigils upon Dean's soul. In the other hand, a half-empty bottle of Jack dangled loosely. Crickets chirped, the sound of their song almost drowning out what he was saying. Almost._

" _Hey, Cas… today Sammy 'n I got back from a case in Ohio. Wrenched my shoulder outta joint, but Sam put it back for me. Still throbs, kinda." Dean licked his lips, considering another drag on the bottle, but it was just too heavy to lift right now. "Wish you were there with us. When're you coming back down? I… I miss you."_

_There was a moment he choked, words refusing to pass his throat. Finally he slurred softly, "If I knew where you were I'd come get you, Cas. Even in Hell, if I had to..."_

The scene faded back into darkness, and Dean and Cas were left lying on the cave floor, staring in shock. Dean hadn't remembered that night, not consciously, or the sappy crap he'd said in hopes the angel would hear him from beyond death.

"Oh, Dean…" Castiel said, touching his arm. Some part of him told Dean to shake off the touch, instinct in the face of embarrassment. But he was so tired of being the hyper-macho Dean Winchester. Maybe he was finally letting go of the impossible expectations he had for himself (to be cold, ruthless, unaffected by anything and everything, including bright blue eyes and soft full lips and gentle touches that threatened to undo him completely). His erection hadn't completely gone away, but for once his dick wasn't the first thing on his mind. He allowed Cas to enfold him, all the anger vanishing. There was only comfort and Castiel whispering softly in his ear. "Dean, I didn't know how much you were hurting… I wish I could've been there…"

They shifted closer together, kissing softly. As they rolled over, the scabbard and knife sheath rubbed against one another, pressing uncomfortable into their legs. In frustration, they both reached to remove the blades, and when the metal brushed together…

…They sang.

There was a high note, soft and steady, and then sparks shot into the air. It was like the night Castiel entered Dean's life, walking through the sigil-covered barn, a shower of sparks falling around him like burning feathers. But this was hundreds of times more. Rock concert pyrotechnic canons at full blast.

When the light show ended, Dean and Cas felt half blind and deaf. They scrambled to their feet, Dean taking up Excalibur again, carefully. It was cool though it had just been virtually on fire moments ago. Clarent was calm as well.

The darkness had fled from them. And now a doorway stood open, incongruously, in the middle of nothing. A tear in the fabric of reality, as the sci-fi movies would call it, waiting for them to step through. So they did.

* * *

"What the hell," Dean muttered, staring at their new surroundings.

They stood in what was clearly an office building's lobby. It was enormous, made of marble, chrome, and glass, with a ceiling that must have been three stories high. It was ultra-modern, cold, and soulless. All but the most ruthless businessmen would've shriveled and died walking through it on a daily basis. Very likely, people had.

An imposing black metal desk sat against the far wall from the strange doorway. On either side were black metal doors. And above the desk was carved into the very stone: P.E.R.D.I.T.I.O.N.

"I believe we've found our destination," Castiel breathed.

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah… not what I expected. But I guess that's Crowley for you."

There was nothing else to do but cross the long floor and approach the desk, where a shapely young woman sat waiting. Scratch that, not a woman – a demon. Her black glassy eyes gazed at them expectantly.

"Mister Winchester. Mister… Singer," she intoned. "Welcome to the _People's Escrow Repatriation, a Division of Interdimensional Tariff Investments of an Otherworldly Nature_."

"Excuse me?" Dean sputtered.

"PERDITION, Dean. Welcome _back,_ I should say. We've undergone a bit of remodeling since your tenure here, but we're still the same corporation when you get down to it." She reached below the desk and retrieved a pair of name badges, already prepared, and passed them over. "Put these on and go on through," she waved her hand toward the left-side doorway, "Mr. Crowley is waiting for you."

"Of course he is," Dean growled. "Guess the element of surprise isn't on our side, Cas."

"I'd have been rather shocked if it had been," Cas sighed as he affixed the tag to his shirt. Which he had to re-button with a blush.

"Please go through," the demon insisted, growing impatient with their dawdling. "Once you get to the end of the hall, there are stairs. Take those to the top floor."

"What, with all this remodeling you guys couldn't spring for an elevator?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Of course," the demon smiled. "We are a modern corporation, after all. But those are... _employee_ only." Her smile, which had been merely fake before then, turned positively feral. "If you'd like to fill out an application, I'd be more than happy to assist you with that. I'm sure you'll meet our _criteria_ , Mr. Winchester."

"That won't be necessary," Castiel snapped, frowning at Dean as though daring him to do such a stupid thing. Dean stared back with disdain. He might hate endless flights of stairs, but not _that_ much.

As quickly as the smile came to the voluptuous demon's face it vanished. She turned her back on them, a clear dismissal. "Fine, take the stairs." With a wave of her hand, she vaguely gestured to the right. "End of the hall, can't miss them. And don't bother with trying the escalator; it's broken."

Somehow, that wasn't a surprise.

As they trudged down the hallway – which had slightly slippery tiles, rough canvas walls to scrape your hands on when you tried to steady yourself, and flickering overhead lights – they grumbled about every little thing. Obviously the place was designed to annoy the shit out of a person.

"Actually," Castiel said, out of the blue, "I wonder why they didn't try to take our blades from us. Surely even a lowly demon as the receptionist would recognize they're not ordinary weapons."

Dean frowned. "Yeah, that is strange." He looked down at Excalibur… but it wasn't there. Clarent was missing as well. " _Damn it!_ What the—"

Castiel reached to his thigh where the sheath had been. "I still feel it. It's just invisible."

Dean's hand fell to his side, noting his situation was the same. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, so we do have one element of surprise, apparently. Go, us."

* * *

They walked and walked upward, more frustrated than they'd thought possible. When they reached the end, there was another door which opened on an office. A sea of cubicles stretching out for what seemed miles, low-walled and depressingly gray, and filled with babbling demons. It was a maze of misery.

Dean had repeated "What the fuck" for the hundredth time, so Castiel put his hand on Dean's shoulder, slid it downward until their fingers were entangled, saying, "I'm here. We'll make it through even this insanity."

They wove their way between and through and around the cubicles. There was no clear, straight path so they had to assume Crowley intended them to arrive eventually and something or someone would guide them.

Glancing into the cubicles as the passed, they saw each had a rolling chair – usually broken in some fashion – a telephone and computer. Occasionally there was a 'personal touch' – a half-dead potted plant, a cartoon cut out from a newspaper, a mug saying 7 _5,309_ _th_ _Best Employee_ – all of which made the situation even more depressing, like the demons were trying so hard to be something other than a mindless drone. Fortunately they were ignored by the demons, who were too busy with those droning chores to notice them.

As Dean and Castiel continued trudging through the mass of cubicles, finding their path sometimes blocked by a random copier (broken down) or pile of fax machines (smashed) and once a stack of filing boxes (slightly burned), they began to wonder if Crowley intended them to stay lost after all. They had to backtrack several times and find new ways to proceed. It was a labyrinth in the strictest definition of the term.

Along the way they heard snatches of discussion between demons and 'customers' on the phones, disturbing in their implications.

" _Thank you for calling PERDITION. My name is Helen Bach. May I please have your policy number—"_

" _...I understand that, sir, but the paperwork signed over all rights to your capital to us, and that capital includes the soul in question—"_

" _We can help you with refinancing, absolutely. Do you have access to a fax machine and a pint of blood?"_

God, it was a collection agency. Dean's jaw tightened, recalling that he'd compared the job to being a crossroads demon. Horrible to find out just how right that was.

Grimacing, they pushed onward.

All the while low muzak played, tunes too faint to recognize, but so very _nearly_ that it was driving Dean half insane trying to figure out what the songs were. "I think," he mumbled, "this is worse than stores that play it so loud you can't hear yourself thinking."

"Dean," Castiel tightened his grip, making Dean realize they were still holding hands. Oh well, not like he cared if a bunch of demons saw him strolling through their call center hell while he was holding his boyfriend's hand. Then again, if one of them attacked (unlikely, as they all seemed more concerned with overburdened switchboards and filling out paperwork with leaking pens) it'd be more to their advantage to have their hands free.

"So many souls, trapped in their own cells," Cas murmured. Dean glanced at him and didn't like what he saw.

"Hey, Cas. You okay?" He paused. Which turned out to be a good thing, because a demon pushing a mail cart barreled by them, navigating a fork in the path previously unseen. Maybe that was a signal to a way out. Dean tugged Cas along after him, keeping on the demon's heels – all the while hearing the demon bitch about _insufficient_ _postage_ and _so many_ _envelope_ _sizes_.

"I am fine," Cas replied, not sounding okay at all. Dean waited, knowing Cas would eventually explain as he couldn't lie worth a damn and no longer liked keeping secrets between them. They followed the demon through several turns they'd have never discovered otherwise without their impromptu 'guide'. Finally Cas said, "This is all just… so much like Heaven."

"'Scuse me?" Dean stuttered, not sure he'd heard that right. Yeah, he'd joked about heaven being run by a bunch of bureaucratic dickbags, but he hadn't thought...

"All these souls, trapped within their own cell, unable to leave. Heaven and Hell are run identically, even if the...window dressings... are different."

The thought of Cas growing up and living in a place so cold and clinically sterile, so mindless and empty yet constantly buzzing with activity, made a part of Dean cringe. He kind of wanted to kill something. "It wasn't literally a jail, right?"

"No, but it may as well be. A gilded cage is still a cage, Dean," Castiel said, just as another staircase came into sight and the mail clerk veered off suddenly, leaving them behind. They paused at the bottom of the stairs, nearly out of breath after their chase. "I simply never knew… how I longed to be free. Until I met you."

"Cas..." Dean blushed. They were 'having a moment' in the middle of Hell. Briefly, his old friend _guilt_ reared up. Would Cas have been happier never knowing him? They did say ignorance was bliss, and in this case maybe they were right…

"Whatever you're thinking," Castiel glared at him. "Stop it. Never doubt that I am pleased to have met you. More than pleased," he pressed, eyes softening. "Thankful."

"This is sweet and all," a bored voice piped up behind them, "but are you guys gonna move? You're blocking the stairs."

The hunter and former angel both startled, stepping to one side to let the demon pass them. Answering its cell phone on the way past, they heard, _"Ben Dover, Repatriation Supervisor. What is the nature of your call?"_

Dean couldn't help himself; he snorted.

"Well, at least a few of the demons around here have a sense of humor."

Castiel looked back at him, blankly, and Dean felt a rush of affection so strong it almost knocked him over.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

Unable to help himself, Dean swooped in, capturing Castiel's mouth in a brief, wet kiss. A light nip to his full lower lip was followed by a soothing lick.

Cas's pupils were dilated but focused when Dean pulled away. Licking his lips and speaking more intelligibly than Dean's pride enjoyed, "What was that for?" At least his voice was that smoky rumble he got when Dean did something particularly right.

"Luck," Dean said, even if that wasn't the truth. But Castiel smiled, faintly, probably knowing already what Dean meant. Regarding harsh words recently spoken, unnecessary jealousies, accusations of misplaced lust and power… and of a cold night on the side of the road, begging someone for the impossible: _to never change._

Up the stairs they went, level after level, until they reached the top. _Level Sixty-Six_. Never let it be said that Crowley's sense of humor was entirely original.

* * *

"You're late."

The secretary behind that final door sneered at them prissily. He was young and attractive, very possibly the sort of secretary that Crowley appreciated for more than his typing skills. And according to his nameplate was _Harry Balzac_.

Dean choked helplessly and Castiel glared at him, confused as to what the hell was so funny at a moment like this.

The demon shuffled papers on his desk randomly without looking up at them. "Mr. Crowley has been waiting nigh on forever for you to traipse your way here, Mr. Singer. He will not be amused."

"And I didn't find it amusing to walk for approximately a million miles," Cas said. "So I believe he and I are even."

 _Cas_ , Dean remembered suddenly, startled that he'd forgotten along the way. _That's why we're here. It's all for his sake. His grace._ All anger from their argument and jealousy (yes, he'd admit it, okay) over Meg faded. They were there for Cas, for something that would give him power—the very thing Dean was terrified of him becoming addicted to again…

And Crowley had it.

The demon secretary touched a button on his phone with manicured finger (honestly, even in Hell secretaries filed their nails at their desk?) and announced, "Mr. Crowley, your 'guests' have arrived. Shall I buzz them through?" An affirmative snark in response, and he pressed another button to unlock the huge black metal door.

It swung smoothly open on its own, and revealed a surprisingly modest sized office. Crowley stood behind his desk, body a silhouette in front of a bright window. Dean spared a thought over the absurdity of sunshine in Hell, as the King lifted his hand without turning around.

A small object on a tether dangled from his pudgy fingers. The amulet.

"Looking for this, angel?" Crowley purred.

Neither of them bothered to reply to such a stupidly obvious question.

Crowley huffed in bland amusement, tucked the amulet into his jacket pocket, and turned around to gaze at his guests. Dean thought how much like a big bug-eyed spider he looked, creeping toward them in his black suit. Cas stepped tentatively in front of Dean, and yeah, Dean really didn't like Castiel being the little wingless fly of this scenario.

"And Dean, darling. So good to see you again as well. Pity Sam didn't tag along. And of course my dear Bobby. Wouldn't be a complete set without him."

While Crowley was dressed as dapper as ever – sharp suit, polished shoes, boringly nice tie – there were a few additions that stuck out. Sparking diamond cufflinks. A stickpin in his lapel with an emerald the size of a quarter. Rings on nearly all his fingers in a multitude of colored gems. But the real attention-getter was crown sitting atop the desk. An actual fucking _crown_ —diamonds, rubies, sapphires, fussy scrollwork across its golden surface, the whole shebang—resting on a dark velveteen pillow.

Crowley followed Dean's line of vision to the crown and smirked. "What can I say? It's good to be King." He shut the door behind them with a wave of his hand. "Closed door meetings are a necessity here, I'm afraid. Demons are such terrible gossips."

He turned his attention then to Castiel with a nasty little grin on the corners of his nasty little mouth. "Cas. Long time no see, loverboy."

"I was never your lover," Cas said with distaste, and yes, some part of Dean relaxed to hear it, though of course he already knew he'd been the first. There was the jealousy again. Better stop it before it clouded his judgment.

"Not for lack of hinting on my part," Crowley chuckled. "You were such a prude back then. Saving it all for marriage, I suppose, how quaint. Let's see if that stick up your arse is still intact, or if Winchester really did help dislodge it. If not, I'm sure he'd happily dive back in to search…"

A low rumble filled the room. Castiel and Crowley both turned to stare at Dean. Unconsciously, he'd been growling low in the back of his throat. As soon as their attention was on him he stopped and cleared his throat, but maintained the warning furrowed brows.

"No need to piss a circle around your angel. You'd be more than welcome to join in. After all, you've finally accepted your member's card to the _Boy's Only_ club." Shrugging at the look of pure hatred shot his way, Crowley went on, "If I still wanted him, he'd have been mine before you pathetic lot even realized he was alive, flat on his back in a skimpy hospital gown. No. There's actually something far more precious than his pretty little bum that I'm wanting now." Rounding the corner of his desk to the sideboard against the wall, which sat beneath an enormous map of the world (with numerous pins marking things best left unasked about), Crowley plucked up a glass tumbler and a bottle of Scotch. "Care for a drink? I might even have some rotgut for you, Dean."

"We will not be partaking of any offerings from the Underworld," Castiel snarled.

"Ah, yes, clever boy's been boning up on Homer," Crowley smirked as he sipped his drink. "You're hardly a virgin goddess, Cas, though you were well on your way to making yourself the new God once upon a time."

Castiel swayed a bit as another memory assaulted him. Dean stepped closer, wondering at what it may have been. It didn't sound good at all.

"You'll never have my grace, Crowley," Castiel said, voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, angel." Crowley removed the amulet from his pocket. "I already _do_ own it. You see, your friend Balthazar signed _his_ over to me at the end of the last apocalypse, if only I would save you from Raphael's clutches. Ironically enough, a deal for that very thing was already in progress," his eyes moved to Dean, "between the Winchesters and our Queen of the Crossroads. But Balthazar died before he could pay up. So you're now responsible for his debt."

"What?" Dean barked. "How the hell do you figure _that_?"

"All contracts have their fine print, and some of mine are written in molecule-sized print. Not my fault if he failed to read it. Castiel is the default price. Angel grace is angel grace, love."

"No fucking—"

"Hold your tongue," Crowley snapped at Dean. "There's more."

With a sense of deep, deep dread, Dean snapped his jaw shut. He could nearly feel Castiel trembling beside him.

"You've probably forgotten one tiny detail of your deal with Meg. Got a bit overlooked when Castiel decided to shuffle off his mortal coil. The deal was you boys prevent the apocalypse, I let you go, souls intact. But Cas still owed me a… little chat."

Dean frowned in confusion, desperately trying to recall the entire encounter with Meg at the crossroads in Utah. It was vague, had been under great stress, and he wished Sam was present because that big brain would've stored the information. "What about?"

Crowley didn't answer immediately. Turning to Castiel, he went on. "Your brother promised me his grace, which isn't exactly kosher to a demon but I couldn't resist a little slice of Heaven. But that grace is now so much angel dust thanks to your _'stab first don't bother with questions they hurt my pretty little head'_ lover here. And so now you and me, Cas, we're having our little chat. I am owed the grace of one angel," he waved the amulet tantalizingly before him, "and pure souls, straight from Heaven."

Castiel gasped in horror and Dean snarled unintelligibly, as Crowley smirked. Before either of them could ask questions, he went on. "Well, I've got one," the amulet swayed, "and you _will_ give it to me. You might not be able to bring me souls from Heaven, being grounded as you are, but there's the next best thing. And it's standing _right_ _here_ …"

Crowley's eyes were fixed like a laser on Dean now, and Dean flinched in alarm. "Winchester's soul, for which I still own the contract."

Dean shouted, "The fuck you do!" Castiel froze in realization.

"Oh yes, I see the angel gets it. No, Dean, when he yanked you out of the pit, it didn't void the contract. No matter how long you've been out 'on loan' to the world, we still own you. And to show how much we love you and miss you, we've kept your old room just the way you left it."

He felt like throwing up all over Crowley's immaculate shoes. Castiel was shaking violently but didn't speak.

"Such a beautiful treasure, your soul, Dean Winchester. The prettiest I've ever seen, if not exactly the purest, and I've seen a lot. Priceless in its own way. Born of a _most_ interesting bloodline that you don't even know – on both sides, it stretches beyond Cain and Abel and right into Nephilim territory, dear boy. It's been to Hell, and Heaven numerous times, and even the Fae lands. Healed by an angel. Loved, _intimately_ , by that angel. Brother to a fallen angel. Vessel to an archangel."

"No, no," Castiel was muttering. Dean clutched at his sleeve. What the hell were they going to do to get out of this mess?

"But I'm a magnanimous sort. Just ask Bobby and his… legs. Everything below the waist was out of order, so I'm sure he's thanking me for fixing that." Crowley's mouth quirked. "So here's the sweetheart deal, boys. You open this _trinket_ ," the amulet's cord jiggled in his fist, "and give me the contents. And I will forego reclaiming Dean's soul. Let him walk right out of here. Though I might note he walked in of his own free will, funny thing that. No, I'm a _generous_ king. I'll let him go, in exchange for your grace. You know you won't get a better deal. Or any deal at all but this one."

Castiel stood there for the longest time, watching the amulet swing back and forth, almost as though hypnotized. He was clearly considering it, Dean could tell. And it terrified him.

Shaking Castiel's sleeve, finally gaining attention, Dean shook his head frantically. But Castiel stared at him in such a familiar way. Deep, intent, fierce. Just as he had in the Green Room. Just as he had when pressing Dean bodily against the wall, hand clamped over his mouth, telling him _everything_ _in_ _one_ _glance_. And just as he did that time, Dean's eyes widened minutely and he gave a barely perceptible nod.

Castiel stepped toward Crowley as if to take the offered amulet and fulfill the bargain. At the same time, he slipped the invisible Clarent from its sheath and shoved Crowley against the wall with a breath-stealing thud. He slammed the demon-killing blade directly through the hand that gripped the amulet, pinning the demon to the wall.

Crowley screamed in pain and shock. Castiel held the blade firmly, sneering darkly at the demon while he struggled to push Castiel away. When Crowley raised his free hand, readying to perform some spell to free himself, Dean drew Excalibur and ran forward with a battle cry, ramming the blade point straight through it. Crowley howled like a hound of hell, his back arching, head thrown back. Sparks flew from both wounds, gold and red, burning the skin around the fairy-wrought steel.

Dean held onto Excalibur's hilt for a long time, barely listening to Crowley's screams. His arm was thrumming with power, it flowed into him like a rush of liquid electricity… The blade was drinking Crowley's blood, his life force, channeling it into Dean… _feeding_ _him_ …

With a gasp, he let go and stumbled backward, leaving the sword behind. Castiel was watching him closely, worried. Dean now knew the power and thrill and taste of eating a soul. He understood why Castiel had done it, and that it must have been so difficult to stop when it was so… _strong_ …

Castiel gripped his sleeve and tugged him further away from the demon stuck to the wall, his expression saying that he understood exactly what had happened. They would almost certainly have to discuss this later.

They stood back, panting and shaking from the ordeal. Castiel retrieved the amulet where it had been flung to the carpet, cradling it in his palm protectively, eyes wide. Dean wondered if he could feel the grace trapped inside it.

Crowley bellowed profanities that even Dean had never heard, though many of them were in languages he didn't know anyway. Castiel winced at a few, so he clearly got the gist.

" _You bloody sons of syphilitic, dung-eating whores_!" Crowley yowled. " _I will have you filleted alive, glazed in sulfuric acid, and broiled over a lava pit_!"

"Yeah, as soon as you get your ass free, which isn't gonna happen," Dean remarked snidely. "Hey, Cas, looks liked we crucified him."

"More like pinned the little insect to the wall," came a sultry female voice.

They all turned toward Meg as she strolled through the black metal door, which had been ripped off its hinges. The pretty boy secretary lay gutted on the floor outside.

" _Meg_!" Crowley shouted, flecks of spit flying from his lips. " _Get these damned knives out of me and—_ "

"Not a chance in hell," she snorted, arms crossed, hips tilted casually. "In _my_ hell, by the way. Party's over for you. I'm Queen and you know it. Just like you know your next throne will be red-hot Judas Cradle."

Crowley turned pale, and so did Castiel. Dean had no clue what the thing was, but he'd be happy never finding out.

Meg turned suddenly toward them, her face serious and a look of real gratitude in her eyes. "Thanks, boys. Really. You won't regret it, believe it or not."

Castiel nodded, sharing one of those _'I understand you, but in a way that I don't quite understand'_ looks that Dean hated so much. "I know. But we need to leave. Now."

"That you do," she turned and pointed to the smashed door. "You'll have to go back the way you came, sorry to say, until I get everything under control. Don't dawdle."

They sprinted toward the door, but were halted by another – also familiar – voice in the room.

"Well done, Melca. Now I'll be taking this one home. Fergus MacLeod belonged to the fae long before he dealt with any demon."

Dean and Castiel looked back to see the Lady Tyronoe standing toe to toe with Meg. This didn't look good, and the expression of blank terror on Crowley's face spoke a hundred volumes. They turned away and they fled.

The way had become faster somehow, down the many stairs seemed to take minutes instead of hours. But it wasn't fast enough.

When they reached the room of cubicles, it was a madhouse. The building had begun to shake like an earthquake, and Castiel suspected Meg was already rearranging her world without regard for anyone's safety. Well, of course not. It was Hell and she was Queen.

They ran through the mess of bodies and broken cubicle walls, the route to the opposite wall becoming clearer with less obstructing their vision. It didn't matter. Demons were screaming, running everywhere, bumping into them, trampling each other. Both of them nearly fell beneath the crush of bodies several times.

As the walls began to shiver and collapse inward, Castiel grabbed Dean's arm and dragged him into a still-standing cubicle that was empty, to remove themselves from the overwhelming crowd. He knew they would never get out before it caved in on everyone. No matter what Meg had promised, she was dealing with her new powers and an angry fae witch at the same time. She truly didn't have as much control over things as he'd hoped.

Dean's face was contorting as he realized much the same, and he was looking every which way trying to plot anything that would help them. But there was only one solution.

Castiel pulled the amulet from his pocket. He held it tightly in his right hand until the little horns pricked his palm. Then he grabbed Dean with his left hand and shouted, "Shut your eyes and hold on!" Dean's eyes opened wide at first, then understood what would happen and closed them firmly, and grasped Castiel's arm.

Cas squeezed the amulet until he felt his skin break, blood flowing through his fingers. Metal heated to melting as his blood and grace sought each other, tearing through the brass to rejoin—

_-white glowing hot metal bursting fire blazing stars flaming heart of Heaven and God heat curling hair _sparking all encompassing burning_ brighter brighter brighter than creation's darkest darkness ever was and then—_

* * *

Dean groaned in pain, gripping his head to still the throbbing ache between his temples. Fingertips danced lightly over his eyes, finding them still intact. He sighed thankfully and laid back down.

How the hell had he survived a full blast of angel grace?

Where the hell was he?

Where the hell was _Cas_?

He sat up quickly, opening his eyes and staring around at…

… _Oh my God..._

_Staring at a bluebell forest._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •The concept of individual cells for souls in Hell was introduced in Ch.9 of this story.  
> •In Tartarus are [Tantalos](http://goo.gl/0INPj), [Sisyphus](http://goo.gl/nd59M), [Ixion](http://goo.gl/w93wH), and [Tityus](http://goo.gl/Hx8dI) (who is similar to Prometheus in punishment). Negative energy created imprints and memories, rather than ghosts.  
> •Always felt the handprint should be Dean's as Cas didn't have a physical human body at the time, and the angle of the mark doesn't suit any position for dragging a person upward.  
> • Though our canon for "Use Your Illusions" stopped just before 6x20, the heaven of the autistic man was too ideal not to use. And since our private theory -developed before writing UYI at all- is that Cas's angelic behavior resembled a form of autism, it was a delightful discovery when the episode aired (a definite fist-pump moment). Therefore, that's still his heaven in our canon, and in Ch. 3 of Gail wonders if he has [Asperger's](http://goo.gl/nlj7d).  
> • "Joy and sorrow are inseparable" is paraphrased from Kahlil Gibran's poem ["On Joy"](http://goo.gl/EoVIb) from his book "The Prophet".  
> • Amber has been used three times now – the Lady of Lake wore it, Meg was referred to being caught in it, and now Lisa's necklace. Magically it's electric, magnetic, sensual, healing, and a symbol of time/immortality. It is mentioned in the Bible in Ezekiel, when he sees God on his Throne. This book also has awesome descriptions of angels in God's entourage, and mentions of the Throne (which will be key later in this story). The verses of interest are [1:1-3:27 Ezekiel](http://goo.gl/wCBiY). General amber info [is here.](http://goo.gl/3tkd1)  
> • There's no solid evidence of Ben's paternity; maybe he's Dean's, maybe not. Knowing would change the dynamics of the show unpleasantly, so we take no firm stance either way.  
> • (Note from QW: We are not using Dante's Inferno as a template for the Greek underworld. The mythology of Hades is a personal specialty. Things in the story that differ from what's read the links –esp. regarding areas and rivers– come from years of my own research and a library full of books I can't link to.) [Lethe](http://goo.gl/IGj3n) and Mnemosyne (not to be confused with the goddess) lay side by side in the underworld; souls could choose to drink from Lethe to forget their lives (usu. before rebirth). Lethe is a root word for "aletheia" (truth), so Cas is forced to watch the harsh reality Dean's secrets, laid bare in the vortex of memory vs. oblivion. [Erebus](http://goo.gl/noErB) ("darkness") is sometimes considered a realm of the underworld though it's really an ancient entity. In our case it's like living darkness. [Cocytus](http://goo.gl/SoaLH) means several things: crying, wailing, sorry, remorse, lament. Here we've used a little of everything, but ultimately lamentation– a cry unto the heavens for aid.  
> • Castiel's insubstantial nature during the Lethe scenes is reminiscent of 6x20 when he stood watching Dean, debating whether to reveal himself, but choosing to let Dean keep his "apple pie life". Again, this happened beyond UYI canon.  
> • We have theories on the amulet and who's allowed to own it. It must be given willingly, to those that you care about, in order to be powerful. And it can only be owned by someoneconnected to the Righteous Man.  
> • Two of the fortune cookies are real, one received by each of us; both made a lasting impression.  
> • Dean's flashback lying on the Impala is set during ["Living On a Memory"](http://goo.gl/jFXxh), a timestamp between UYI and STE.  
> • Please forgive us for the name of Crowley's business and the demons, we couldn't help ourselves. It's possible we enjoyed Hell as a corporation entirely too much (we left out so many other ideas, that will probably become timestamps). Most of Crowley's hell is based on job experiences by both co-authors.  
> • Partaking of food or drink in the underworld (or fairyland) to bind a person forever is a classic ploy. It can be found in many stories, but in this case Crowley references Persephone and the pomegranate seeds, as Cas had just come through the Greek underworld.  
> • [This is a Judas Cradle](http://goo.gl/b7lzH). Go ahead and feel sorry for Crowley.


	12. PART III - CHAPTER 11: Geodesic Dome; Section (a) "Stand Outside"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Heaven refuses to wait, even when relationships are at stake.

"It's just a wall, kid. You glaring a hole in it's not gonna make it tell you anything."

_Things always came back to a wall one way or the other_ , Sam thought. A wall in his head, a literal wall between him and Gail, innumerable walls and doorways he couldn't pass through to follow his brothers into Hell. He twitched but didn't move to look at Bobby. Yes, he was staring at the wall. But if the choices were between staring at the wall or shouting and waving his arms at the hunter (or worse), Sam thought he knew what Bobby would really prefer. That didn't mean Bobby seemed grateful for Sam's restraint, though.

"Not right now, Bobby."

They'd relocated to the kitchen after Dean, Cas and Meg vanished into the air, on the pretense of getting something to eat, but since they'd stepped into the room all Sam had done was alternately pace and stare at nothingness.

"Don't take that tone with me, boy. I know you're worried about your brother but right now you need to focus on what you're gonna to say to your woman when she gets up."

Worried didn't begin to cover it. Dean and Castiel were in Hell. Sam didn't know how Bobby could be so calm about something like that.

"Nor will pacing a furrow into the floor take your feet to hell so as to follow them," Bill chimed in.

Sam didn't know if the gnome thought he was being helpful –likely not – but he didn't care and was half-turned to give Bill a piece of his mind when a bellow heard clear through the walls stopped him in his tracks.

"SAMUEL KEITH WINCHESTER!"

"An' there be th' dulcet tones of yer lady love now," the gnome said dryly. Shrugging his small shoulders, he gave Bobby a consolatory smile and said, "Aye, ye did try t' warn the lad."

Clearing his throat loudly and indiscreetly, Bobby said to Bill, "What say we leave the lovebirds to it."

"'Tis a right fine plan, Singer." And the little man scampered after Bobby, toward the living room.

Leaving Sam alone, to face a wrathful Gail. And he would know wrathful women, as he'd once consorted with the Mother of All. Even a lifetime, and several millennia ago, he remembered all too well how it felt to be on the receiving end of a literal tongue lashing.

However, instead of stomping her feet or shouting, Gail merely crossed her arms under her bust (presenting enough cleavage to distract Sam unfairly), and said, "You knocked me out." Sam opened his mouth in surprise, when she asked, "How?"

"How? I...?" His jaw flapped for a moment, then he sputtered, "There was a fucking demon in our living room that you were about to try to make a deal with and you're worried about the _how?"_

"Don't you dare talk to me that way, Sam." Gail's voice was low, a simmering anger. "What did you do to me?"

"We are not getting into this—" Sam turned away, but Gail grabbed his arm with a strong hand and jerked him back to face her.

"No, Sam, I think we are."

Snarling and stepping close, crowding into her personal space, he said, "My brother is in Hell right now, Gail! _Actual_ _Hell_. Do you have any idea what that means? What he's endured there already? What they both have had to do? And now I'm stuck here with you _,_ and doing _nothing_ and—"

The loud crack registered before the sting. Gail's slap was hard enough to actually knock his head to the side.

"What you need to _do_ ," Gail hissed through clenched teeth, "is calm your ass down. And take a good two steps back out of my face, right this instant."

_She slapped me,_ the stunned thought rattled through Sam's head. _She actually slapped me_. This was swiftly followed by, _Fuck, she's going to kick us out of the house, isn't she?_

He was fully convinced for several moments that he'd ruined everything, that if Dean and Cas did make it out of Hell ( _when_ , he tried to tell himself) they'd be looking at an immediate relocation. And then Gail started talking again.

"I understand you're worried, Sam, but please remember that I don't know what's going on. Do you remember _why_ I don't know what's going on?" A pause, then Gail said, "Because you used some of your—" she waved her hands "—angel magic on me and knocked me out. You removed me from the discussion completely!"

Softer, he said, "Deals with demons aren't something you can take lightly, Gail. And you were in there suggesting—"

"All I suggested was that we listen to what a sentient creature had to say," the doctor said. "You were the one who decided – for _everyone_ _present,_ I might add – that I had nothing valuable to add to the discussion."

This gave Sam pause. He'd looked at it as removing Gail from a dangerous situation, not undermining any sort of suggestions or input she might have given, or devaluing her opinion. Now he felt ashamed.

Gail, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts, said, "I'm not interested in arguing about that though, Sam." Her tone was gentler now, persuasive, as she continued, "I'm more interested in filling in the blanks and talking over what happens next."

"You... don't want to argue about what a dick I was?"

Gail laughed, and just like that the tension in the room lifted. "Of course I do, to some extent. But will that get us anywhere, or help with whatever's upsetting you? No. So I'd rather let you off with a warning, _this_ _time_ , and concentrate on right now. But _if_ ," she added, "you do anything like this to me ever, ever again, though, we're going to have serious problems. Understood?"

As clearly angry as she was with him, she was willing to look beyond it to the truly important issues at hand. She wasn't kicking them all out for Sam's shortsightedness. And best, she wasn't giving up on him for lashing out. Sam couldn't have asked for anything better.

He puffed out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Got it," he said, then rubbed his sore cheek. "Perfectly."

Sam nodded her toward the table, ready for a long chat, and they had just sat down when Bill came rushing back in from the living room. The gnome stood in the archway, stance wide, his hands virtually flying over the cell phone cradled in his chubby hands.

"You... have a cell phone," Gail said, amusement lighting the back of her eyes.

"'Tis a device for instantly transmittin' information from all zones of creation," Bill scoffed. "O' course I have a cell phone."

Bobby appeared behind the gnome and Sam stifled a snicker. Bill really did resemble the older hunter done in miniature, made obvious when seeing them side by side.

"Are you done twittering like a teenage girl?" Bobby groused down at Bill.

"Wait, you have a _Twitter_?" Sam rose and snatched the phone from the gnome's hands. Bill cursed in protest but Sam held the phone at his chest level, high enough that no matter how the gnome hopped it was impossible to reach. "This is—" Sam knew he was sputtering but couldn't seem to make himself form whole sentences. "You were _live tweeting our argument?"_ He looked up at Gail, eyes wide, and held out the phone in illustration.

"Let me see that." Gail made several distressed noises as she read through what had been typed. " _'Mistress slapped Oaf! #twillbeleavingamarkonhishide'…"_ Huffing out a half-laugh, Gail read another. _"'Oaf will be groveling come the morrow #pulltheotherithasbellson_ '… Bill, what the—"

"If you'll be so kind as t' scroll upwards," Bill said coolly, not embarrassed in the least to have been caught distributing private details about Sam and Gail's life, "you'll be seeing the reason for my coming to alert ya both."

Gail read off the screen, "'@ _Lawn_Ornament King Crowley dead Long live Queen Meg'."_

"'Lawn Ornament'?" Bobby quirked an eyebrow at the gnome.

"Don't be thinkin' ye can get away with callin' me that, big ugly."

Sam's heart skipped a beat and he said with growing excitement, "That means… they did it! They got to Crowley's hell and they – _they won!_ " A wide smile split his face and he suddenly felt like grabbing Gail up in his arms, maybe dancing around the kitchen.

"Don't get too excited yet," Bobby said, taking the phone from Gail as it began to chirp at a furiously increasing pace. "That was just one comment. And it said nothing about Dean or Castiel. Without definite word on them—"

But Sam knew.

For at that moment, he gasped and grabbed his forehead. Stumbling backward until he hit the wall, he heard the thousands of angelic voices, chorusing in his head, shouting and singing in praise the way he'd only heard when Michael had cast down Lucifer, and when the Christ had been born...

_Lo, the angel Castiel is risen from Hell! The Righteous Man walks upon the earth! Glory to the Throne of Heaven! Praise be to God!_

"They made it," Sam breathed shakily, tears in his eyes as Gail clutched his arms and Bobby helped him slide into a chair. "They made it…"

* * *

  
Dean was momentarily alarmed, but then a closer look at the trees made him breathe in relief. There was no mistaking their location; they were back in the very same bluebell forest that had formed from Castiel's sacrificed grace in Utah. They were close to one of the outer edges, because just beyond the tree line Dean could see a shimmer of heat from the desert air, like a reverse oasis mirage.

"Holy shit," Dean managed. "I don't know how you did it, man, but we're back in the good old U-S-of..." The words dried on his tongue when he caught sight of the angel a few yards away.

Cas lay motionless on a bed of bluebells, face pressed into the forest floor. Smoke curled upward from where his body touched the earth, small pricks of light sparking up around his shoulders, his hair… Then he began to move in a very strange way, his arms shaking as though trying to get balance to sit up. But the bluebells were wilting, burning away with every movement. Each one Cas touched ignited into white light, which flowed into his mouth and nose. He was breathing it in, and with every breath his body twitched more violently, and a soft keening sound broke from his throat.

"Oh, fuck," Dean gasped. Castiel's old grace was somehow being released and he was taking it back into his body. And when that had happened with Anna… she'd exploded.

In a blind panic, Dean scrambled up and ran to Castiel's side. Cas was having a full out seizure now, entire frame shaking under the force of it. Dean pulled him up, trying to tuck his entire body close to prevent touching any fresh bluebells but it was hard to hold him still. Castiel's head jerked against Dean's chest as Dean shouted, "Cas! Cas, look at me!"

The angel's eyes were wide open and unfocused, a pale light beginning to glow from within, and it wasn't clear if he even heard Dean's voice. His lips were starting to turn blue, the lower lip trembling as he gasped, and there was a heart-stopping moment when Dean realized that low gurgle coming from Castiel's throat was the sound of him choking on his own saliva.

Lowering Cas's head, Dean turned him sideways, pillowing Cas's head on his thigh, uncaring of the drool wetting his jeans.

"You're okay, you're gonna be okay," Dean soothed, ignoring his growing hysteria. Cas's violent shaking was beginning to subside into loose shivers though, which Dean considered a good sign. He bent forward, his face over Cas's shoulders, as near the ears as he could get in hopes Cas might hear him.

"Cas, Cas, you're so beautiful, you know that?" Words were just pouring out of Dean's mouth, a combination of fear and panic making him babble things he'd otherwise never say. "You were so beautiful as an angel, too. You saved me and it scared the shit outta me, but you were so beautiful. I remember how you looked then but... but I don't want _that_." Castiel made a low noise against Dean's leg and it drove him to keep going. "I want you just like you are right here, right now. _Human_. This body, this face. Your eyes, that mouth, fuck, you know I _love_ your mouth... your fingers and that fucked up hair. All of it. God, _please_ ," he choked, "don't leave me."

A rattling cough echoed through Castiel's chest as he began to heave in great gulps of air. "That's it, you're doing good, you're doing great," Dean soothed, rubbing circles on Cas's back. "Don't you _dare_ blow up and leave me now, you son of a bitch. Stay with me, Cas. Just be the guy who sticks his cold toes on me in bed, and eats crazy vegetables and then steals my burgers, and draws and wears those fucking glasses to read... and kisses like there's no goddamned tomorrow." His voice down to a rough whisper, he begged, " _Please, Cas... please_."

There came the sound of a vehicle rumbling in the distance, but that couldn't possibly be right. There were no real roads out here, hell, there weren't even identifiable footpaths. They were deep into what he thought might be reservation land—Navajo, Ute, Dean was slightly ashamed to realize he'd never bothered to find out which—and as far as he knew no one actually lived out this far. That was the reason it'd been a perfect location for their confrontation with Raphael. The two shamans who'd helped during the Apocalypse had owned the spot personally and given permission – hell, they'd granted a blessing – to use the land for the battle.

The sound of an engine desperately in need of attention and tires on hard-packed dirt got closer. Dean just held onto Castiel, who'd stopped trembling altogether and was now very, very still. From what little he could recall of Doc Gail's crash course in seizures (she'd thought them an outside possibility when Cas had first been released from the hospital) that wasn't exactly common after an attack like the one Castiel just had. She'd said that he'd likely be awake but perhaps not aware, in a sort of half-awake state; yet Cas's eyes were firmly shut, his breathing shallow.

Next thing Dean knew, someone was calling his name and tugging on his shoulder, and he lashed out without thinking. Clinging to Cas with one arm, his other swung out wildly and just missed hitting the other person's kneecaps.

"Dude! Winchester!" the male voice shouted. "We're here to help!"

Dean looked up in surprise at a young man, maybe early twenties, Native American. He finally realized it was one of the shamans.

"He's messed up," Dean said hoarsely, indicating Castiel with another squeeze of the limp form. "Please, you gotta—"

"We'll do everything we can, but you have to come with us." The young man went to lift Cas's feet and Dean got with the program, raising Cas by the shoulders, and they carried him through the rest of the woods and into the flat baked desert. The heat instantly assaulted Dean and he thought he might faint and drop Cas if they had to go far.

But there was a beat-up van waiting nearby, with the side door open. They hauled Castiel inside, shut the door and the driver – an older Native with graying hair – immediately began to drive.

Dean watched for a moment as the younger man applied some kind of herb paste to Cas's hand where the amulet had burned it, and to his arms – there were numerous little blisters like tiny fiery sparks had alighted on his skin. Dean then gazed upward and out the back window of the van. The desert was all gray-green scrub and sand with mountains in the distance. The bluebell wood sat alone in an area without even that much bare life around it. If anything declared it supernatural, it was this fact. And Castiel's angel grace had created it…

"You might not remember me, but I'm Ricky," the young man was saying, finally regaining Dean's attention. "It was pretty crazy before your big firefight and all." Nodding his head, Ricky continued, "That's my grandfather Joseph. We're going to our cabin – another one, not the place you guys used last year – and we'll get you fixed up." He smiled in a strangely happy way. "Looks like my visions are getting pretty good, 'eh, gramps?"

"Don't brag, boy," the elder man chuckled. "Just because you saw a battle with hundreds of angels and demons, and then an angel and a man popping outta the earth, don't make you a bigshot."

Ricky sighed indulgently, and turned his attention back to Castiel. "Yeah, well, we'll see when the next one happens…"

"Maybe it'll be about you finding a job."

Ricky groaned something in return, but Dean had tuned them completely out. He was on autopilot now, clenching Cas's hand as though he would be ripped from his grasp again.

 

* * *

 

_Even with his eyes closed, Castiel can see the utter whiteness. He opens them slowly and feels as though the white light presses against him, holds him in place, fills him to the brim._

_The slab he lies upon is covered in lilies. He is clothed in long white robe and cloak. Hands crossed over his breast, he clutches his angel blade. He lies in repose in a place that is not quite a room, which is enclosed in a translucent whiteness fluttering like drapes in a breeze. A floor of white marble is scattered with white violets, lilies of the valley, primrose, apple blossoms. The perfumed air fills his lungs, making him drowsy._

_Exhaustion keeps him still and quiet on the bed of flowers as the messengers enter. The youth in armor with his lance, the woman in velvet bearing the silver plate, the veiled child in linen holding the lace-covered goblet. They stand in a line at the foot of his bed, waiting his command. But he is too weary to rise and speak._

_The drapes rustle and part, and a golden light enters, staying apart from the others. He cannot make out its features but he hopes it is the king. He knows the sword has finally been mended and he wishes to stand side-by-side with the king, ready to battle against the darkness. But as the form moves closer he sees it is a stranger wearing blue robes. The face is still hidden by light yet Castiel feels he should know this person._

_The golden figure speaks: **You have done well, child. No one could be prouder than I. But you must rise now and take your true place.**_

_Castiel frowns as he slowly sits up, and then stands, holding his blade comfortably at his side. **Where is the king?** he asks, **I cannot continue without him.**_

_**He is here,** the robed one says, waving a hand toward the three people standing at the foot of the bed. _

_They come forward one by one, the child first. She slips the lace from the goblet and the white light inside shines like a star. She lifts the cup to his lips and he drinks, the light both cool and warm at once. He feels revived._

_The armored youth comes next. His lance no longer bleeds, but glitters white as polished silver. He holds the lance out to Castiel, who takes it in his free hand, standing taller and prouder. His energy surges._

_The woman glides to him, lifting the lid of the dish. This time he does not find his own head on the platter, but a crown. The metal is unknown, but white-silver and gleaming with small crystalline jewels winking like eyes across its surface. The figure of gold comes forward and takes up the crown._

_Castiel feels fear then, knowing what will come next. **No** , he says, pressing himself against the flowered bed. **The king hasn't arrived.**_

_**The king is here** , says the gold figure. **He is now you.** And the crown is placed on Castiel's head._

_He trembles with the weight, feeling like Atlas beneath the sky. **No** , he repeats, **I am not worthy to rule. I am the least of angels. I fell, I became human.**_

_Though he cannot see the figure's face, he knows there is a smile. **This is why you are chosen.**_

_The blue robed one glows bright as the sun then, blinding Castiel, burning away the flowers, the drapes, the three messengers._

_When Castiel opens his eyes, he is alone and standing in the Garden._

_The Tree of Knowledge, miles high, stands in the center, its branches heavy with fruit. Without questioning, he reaches his vessel's hand to the lowest fruit, plucks it and holds it reverently upon his palms._

_To eat it would be both a sin and a blessing. This was the nature of everything, he realizes. One side relied on the other or it would not exist. Light and dark were meaningless words without one another to balance…_

_The fruit begins to change, its form constantly shifting. It is a flower. A seed. An egg. A fish. A box. A globe. Faster and faster it transforms. Star tetrahedron, cube hexahedron, octahedron, on and on until there are more levels and layers and pathways between them all than anyone, human or angel, should've been able to see. And he sees them all._

_Frightened, he drops the fruit. His vessel is gone now, his true form shining through. He stands as high as the Tree itself now, and can see all of Heaven and earth._

_He looks down at himself, at his restored angelic form. It is as he has always known it. No… no, it has changed. Where it was once white and flaming, shot through with tendrils of blue and green, it now is opalescent – white, overlaid with every color. Each way he turns, it ebbs and flows like the tides, dazzling him. Where his wings before had been dusky as night, there are two new pairs – red as bloody sunset, indigo as twilight. And those three pairs are myriad echoes of themselves extending back and back. His many hands feel his familiar faces as they gradually shift like shapes in clouds – ovine and feline, equine and simian – with all their many sapphire eyes. Now each bears a crown._

_He is terrified at himself. It is all too great and awful and magnificent at once. What had he done to warrant this change, to be elevated beyond any angel he'd ever seen? Even beyond the archangels who were beautiful and inspired respectful terror in the lower angels and in all sensible beings._

_What has he become? How can he hope to manage this?_

_In his despair and fear, he takes flight away from the Garden, into space. When he stops and looks back at Heaven, he is startled._

_It is… unexpected._

* * *

  
The room was silent. The sun had set now, but Dean made no move to turn the bedside lamp on. He was vaguely aware of his own thirst and exhaustion, but it was distant, buried under fear and grief. Instead he sat motionless, staring at the point where his fingers interlaced with Castiel's. It was easier than looking at Cas's face, his unmoving, fragile eyelids with their spider-web veins bluish-pink visible by dim light creeping through the open door behind him.

Ricky had left a mug of something pungent and steaming much earlier. It was certainly stone cold by now, not that he had any interest in testing it.

"Winchester?"

The beaded curtain between the bedroom and small living area clacked as Joseph pushed it aside. Dean didn't turn around or respond. Holding Cas's hand felt more important, and looking away from the knobby ridges and raised veins cradled in his palm impossible.

Joseph seemed to take exception to this behavior because he huffed and flicked the wall switch. The sudden brightness of the overhead light brought tears to Dean's eyes. That, at least, was what he told himself. Brushing a thumb across Cas's lightly bruised middle knuckle, Dean hitched one shoulder slightly higher than the other in acknowledgment of the shaman's presence, but that was it.

The older man sighed. "Are you going to just sit there and let the good food I made you go to waste?"

When Dean simply continued to slowly stroke Castiel's hand, Joseph grunted. "Well, guess that answers that." The old man stepped further into the room to gather the cold mug in one hand, and a plate of equally ignored sandwiches in the other, then left. But moments later he returned with another mug, freshly steaming.

Dean didn't want anything if it didn't involve helping Cas, so he petulantly hunched his shoulders. Joseph actually laughed.

"Idiot," he muttered, with an edge of fondness that reminded Dean forcibly of Bobby. He wondered briefly if all crotchety old men agreed on terms of endearment or if it was coincidence. "Not gonna do him any good if you pass out soon as he wakes. It's tea, to help you sleep. And it's not like you're alone here. We can keep watch, too."

Peripherally, Dean saw him set down the fresh mug before he felt a blanket being draped across his shoulders. It was faded green woven cotton, a match to the one tucked around Cas.

Joseph sighed again. "Look, at least try to rest, Winchester. Don't make me call Holly. She's only a tail's shake away, and I have the feeling she'd enjoy laying the whammy on you."

Dean wasn't sure if Holly's powers would allow her to do that, but he didn't care. His tensed jaw made Joseph grumble and the older man turned, swatting the beads a little harder than necessary as he left. They clacked angrily back and forth for several minutes before settling.

The night dragged on interminably. Dean was only partly roused when he heard Ricky on the phone, asking for Sam Winchester, but the conversation was short and calm so he stayed put. If Sam knew where they were, that's all he cared about.

At first, the faint sounds of Joseph and Ricky moving around the cabin had provided a sort of distraction in the form of background noise, but eventually Dean heard them move to settle down. Their footsteps treading softly in the hall reminded Dean suddenly, strongly, of Salina Regional, to those awful days of sitting by Castiel's side, not knowing if he would survive, if Dean's presence would be enough to tether him to the world. At least then, though, Cas made the occasional noise or snuffle, but now he lay still, as though dead.

_You've been helping him as best you know how, but bathing and feeding isn't enough for a baby. You've got to hold them, or they wither._

Moving slowly, bruised ribs aching and joints creaking like a man twice his age, Dean stood long enough to remove his boots, belt and, after a fraught moment of consideration, his jeans. Then he whispered, voice cracking like winter brush weeds crushed underfoot, "Scoot over, Sparky."

Of course Castiel didn't move, but then Dean hadn't really expected him to. Dean gently insinuated himself beside Cas, gathering the still form to rest comfortably against his chest. His fingers sifted through Castiel's hair as the hunter hummed, hoarse and low and sweet, under his breath. His voice occasionally drifted into words, but mostly the sounds he made were unrecognizable, a soft lullaby designed to comfort.

Morning was still hours from showing the first fingers of light on the horizon when Dean finally fell asleep, Castiel motionless in his arms. "

* * *

  
_So much… so complicated._

_He can see not just Heaven and Earth but multiple realms. The Fae lands are twinkling and green-silver-violet-gold, wiggling through like wires poking everywhere they can reach. Scattered through the earthly plane are little pockets with many-colored sparks that he knows are pagan gods and paradises. Some are clinging to life, barely supported by a handful of worshipers; others, strong and vibrant, thrive on the power of millions of human minds. They have their own worlds and do not interfere with Heaven. Nor will they be absorbed by it. Still other lands are dull brown or overgrown like untended gardens, the gods who once maintained these places now working for Heaven in order to stay alive. Time was not always kind to religions._

_And there, in a ball of tightly woven smoke and blood, swirling and throbbing, is Hell. It flicks out tendrils like lazily pulsing sun flares, scorching the earth where they touch. But the flares lessen even as he watches, the cracks between Hell and the earthly realm healing under the power of the new Queen's influence. Nearby lays the stone globe of Purgatory, hollow as a geode, slick with murky water as though plucked from the bottom of the ocean. It had once been cracked open, the jagged gem exposed, the foul contents spilled into the earthly realm but is now sealed, its stone made molten by the flame of pure grace and cooled by the void of space._

_Castiel turns his attention back to Heaven. Biased he might be, but he thinks perhaps it is the most beautiful of all. Domes and spheres with threads connecting each realm, one atop the next, extending beyond and through and between each other. It is the Fruit and the Tree, the Alpha and Omega. For all its impossible intricacy, Castiel sees the pattern, is able to discern the separate circles that comprised Heaven._

_And he is above it all. How had this happened? And why? He feels, at the edge of memory, there is an answer…_

_Then comes two angels, to his side._

_The first is cerulean-blue, like water turned to flame, soothing and cool; his wings like fog, eyes of golden fire. Wound around his form are ropes of multi-colored lights, each strand a prayer from a human soul, waiting to be held and heard by God. The second is the brightness of topaz and sunshine, bladed violet wings, glinting silver eyes. They bow to him._

_**Hail, Castiel,** they say, **the Metatron and Archon of Light.**_

_Castiel feels his entire being jolt with energy at these words. Pulses of light and dark spread across his body, fear and pleasure and anger and humility mixed. Now he knows. Raphael had told him... God had created him for this exact purpose. The archangels had felt he did not deserve it. Had hidden the knowledge, lied to him, betrayed him. Destroyed him._

_Yet, in the end, he still walked the right paths and still came to this destination._

_And these angels, whom once were greater than he, now bow to his orders._

_**I wish to…** Castiel is suddenly hesitant. He will be led to the Throne of God, to sit upon it in God's absence. He is all but God now… and it is overwhelming him in every way. He feels as though he will explode with the power…_

_The angels sense this and approach, reach for his hands._

_**You must not be afraid** , the blue-green angel says. **We are your brothers. I am Sandalphon. This is Jahoel. We are here to help.**_

_**Our Father entrusted this to you** , says the golden angel, Jahoel. **He would not do so if you were not righteous.**_

_**Yes…** Castiel says, slowly. _

_They guide him through the spheres of Heaven, and he sees everything that is and was._

_Wilon… Malkuth, Yesod… where Heaven touches and overlaps the earth. The first circle had once been Gabriel's domain, and had long since been abandoned. It is in places chaotic and unhappy, in others joyous. Blue and green and brown and golden as the earth itself, Yesod is touched also with a pleasant haze of lavender. Castiel thinks it might perhaps be his favorite._

_Raqia… Hod… is starkly different, and a place he remembers all too well. Fire and water, ice and blade, it is the zone of correction for disobedient angels, and had been Raphael's domain once. Castiel has no idea why the second circle has come to exist as a place of torment in what he'd believed to be paradise. It seems wrong._

_Shechaqim… Netzach… He has also been to the third circle. Annael had sometimes brought the garrison; it is cool, green, and peaceful, a place of refreshment and calm, where manna is made and angels join together to share their grace if they wish. Until the war with Raphael, he had been there twice only. During the war though, he and his band of rebel angels had taken advantage of this rarely used space; the circle was so large and angels never rested without permission, it was easy to get lost in the metaphoric wilderness and thus an ideal spot to conceal an army. Despite twinges of fear and guilt, deep in Castiel's grace he still thinks fondly of his times in Shechaqim, and the splendor of the circle fills his heart with longing._

_Zebhul… Tiphareth… had been Michael's domain. Here in the fourth circle, human souls abide in their dreams. It is the ideal Heaven humanity seems to desire; the Land of Milk and Honey, the Temple of Gold, which God had provided to comfort souls as they left earthly life for the heavenly one. But the angels had pushed them away, locked into tiny bubbles of complacency to separate them from the Host. Those bubbles are pressed deeply into the circle's lowest stratum, only a thin membrane of reality separating it from Shechaqim, and it is with a mild tremor of surprise that Castiel realizes the human heavens he'd visited were in the fourth circle all along._

_Maon… Geburah... the sight makes Castiel freeze in his tracks. It is twisted, folded in upon itself, a knot that cannot be unraveled, and sealed with flaming bands of iron. He cannot see beyond the inflamed red seals, pulsing like wounds that will never heal properly, but he knows… this is the Cage. The sigils that are woven into each twisted knot and each burning band are in the style of the Watchers, those angels who'd fallen for their love of humanity. Originally created for Lucifer, he had been joined now by Michael. The Cage had been resealed and would remain so unless Castiel can find power to undo it. But why would he… something niggles, but he cannot see it._

_Makhon… Chesed, Binah, Chokmah... The sixth circle is beautiful; all soft blue light, it radiates with endless wisdom and understanding. Grander than the Library of Alexandria, a room of marble, black and white pillars soars to the peak of Heaven. All the knowledge of the spheres is held there, rolled together into smaller spheres, stored for only the most pure and for God to touch. This will be for him soon, what he does not already know thanks to his elevation, he will know when he touches them…_

_And there, beyond that long hallway… encased in pure adamantine grace, locked to all but God Himself and the one who held the Key..._

_Araboth… Kether... The Throne of Glory. The Well of Souls. Another name comes to him: The Siege Perilous, reserved for the one who found the Grail. To take that seat without completing the Quest would mean death. He can see his name even now engraving itself upon the Throne. The Grail is his._

_Castiel is the Key. He'd been the key to Purgatory also. Unexpectedly the key that opened the cell of the Righteous Man..._

… _Was he somehow the Key to Everything in the universe?_

_The idea makes him swoon with fear and a sudden craving. So much power, that much control. He can truly change all that is wrong, that makes people feel they are alone, that makes those he loves so unhappy. The world, paradise, even hell, can be remade…_

_Sandalphon and Jahoel have held his hands until this moment, and he scarcely noticed. They release him and stand back, nodding for him to step forward._

_Castiel gazes fearfully upon the door of white grace, flaming and pure and holier than anything he's ever seen. Placing a shaky hand upon it, he feels it give and enfold him, pull him inside. It warms him within and without, enfolds and is enfolded by him. Power flows within and without, and he feels it all, opens himself to it._

_After that it is so… simple._

* * *

It was dawn in Utah. Dean had been awake for no more than ten minutes – long enough to hit the bathroom and finally follow the wisdom of his hosts and drink a glass of juice before returning to his beside vigil – when the angels came.

He felt them before he saw them, the smell of frozen air and incense thick in his nostrils, the back of his neck prickling. Before he could rise from the chair, they were there. The instinct to reach for his .45 led to a split second of confusion when he remembered that he had no weapons. They'd gone to Hell with their fae blades, which were left behind.

There were four angels – two with male vessels, two female. Dean was more angry than afraid. Until Castiel screamed.

Cas sat bolt upright, enormous blue eyes open and unfixed as he howled wordlessly.

Dean moved to reach for him, but another angel appeared behind him and pulled him away forcibly. He thrashed, trying to break free, cursing viciously as Castiel's screams crescendoed and the remaining four angels converged on the bed.

"Dean Winchester, calm yourself," came the voice of the angel that held him. It was slow and soothing, and damn if it didn't make Dean struggle harder. With a gentle ' _tsk'_ , fingertips appeared in his line of sight and tapped his forehead lightly. While Dean didn't pass out, his muscles did go utterly lax and he melted into the angel's arms, unable to fight anymore. The angel slid him carefully onto the floor, propped against the wall.

"My apologies," the angel said as it crouched down to look Dean in the face. The angel's vessel was male and tall – incredibly tall – dark skinned, surprisingly light brown eyes, and a placid expression that seemed genuinely compassionate. But Dean didn't give a damn because Castiel had abruptly stopped screaming and all he wanted was to get to Cas's side but he couldn't fucking budge.

On the bed, Castiel was silent but writhing weakly as the angels moved their glowing hands slowly across his body, and it was hard to tell if the light was coming from them or from within Cas. Dean felt panic rising again, and he tried so hard to move or speak. "S' hap'nin t' Cas?"

The angel's expression grew more serious. "He is... re-acclimating. Without their help the process would be… difficult to say the least." Placing a long-fingered hand on Dean's shoulder – just over the handprint scar – he said, "We have not been properly introduced. I am called Sandalphon. If I release my hold on your body, will you allow the others to work unhindered?"

Dean glared. With a sigh, Sandalphon turned his head. "Jahoel, I need you."

A vaguely familiar angel came through the beaded curtain. "I've told the other humans what's happening," he said, "it just seemed polite, you know."

Sandalphon nodded and stepped away toward the bed. When the tall angel's hand touched Castiel, Cas went completely limp, and Dean tried to struggle again.

The new angel– average height, long blond hair – leaned down. "Hey, Dean," Jahoel said, an easy smile on his face belied by the tension bracketing his vessel's light blue eyes. "Sorry about this mess. But at least we're just dealing with grace and not trying to shove the Leviathan down a hole, eh?"

The pieces clicked into place: this was an angel who'd fought beside them in the great battle with Raphael. One of the twins who'd guarded the Ark of the Covenant. Despite himself, Dean relaxed minutely, calming enough to actually pay attention to words.

"I'm gonna let you up. But no charging the bed or trying to smack anyone around, okay? We're trying to help Castiel."

There was no dramatic snapping of fingers; one moment Dean was unable to move, and the next he was surging upward, a handful of Jahoel's shirt in his fist. "Thanks, Jay," he sneered. "Now tell me what the fuck is happening to Cas! And why the hell all you mooks are suddenly concerned about family reunions when you've been ignoring him for nearly a year!"

Jahoel gently pried Dean's fingers loose, his greater strength more than the human could fight. "It hasn't been sudden," he said calmly. "Not for me, at least. Samael asked us months ago to leave you alone. By the time I knew Castiel was back on earth, you were with him. Like, _constantly_." The angel seemed frankly amused. "And when he wasn't glued to your side he was with Bobby, under literally every type of angel-warding known to mankind. I could have broken my promise to Samael and visited anyways, but," he shrugged again with a little smirk, "I believe in keeping covenants."

There was no argument Dean could make against that. But when and why and how had Sammy been involved? He was about to ask but Castiel made a tortured noise and the bright light spiked suddenly. Dean shut his eyes quickly, and fear gripped his heart. _Castiel was about to explode, he just knew it..._

But then there was silence and it was as though the entire room took a deep breath. Dean's eyes opened again to see Castiel, flushed and awake now. Sandalphon nodded to Dean. "We have settled his grace. What he re-absorbed was unstable in his human form. That is no longer the case."

"You call this 'settled'?" Dean barked, all but shoving the tall angel aside. He grasped Castiel's limp and sweating hand.

Cas stared up at him, breath hitching, weak little sounds interspersed with his words. "It's too much… I can't. Too much, it's too big, I can't—"

Huge blue eyes full of unshed tears turned toward Dean, and he rubbed Cas's knuckles gently. "You don't have to do a damned thing you don't want, Cas. These assholes can't force you." He glared up at the angels who stared back blankly as though the words meant nothing. "It's not the apocalypse. You don't have to save the world again. You've done enough. Whatever it is, it's nothing they can't live without."

Sandalphon and Jahoel looked at each other, mouths pressed into grim lines. "No," Jahoel, "we can't live without it, not really. But you're right, we can't force Castiel. Still, he has to—"

Dean snapped, "He said it was too much. It's over. You've healed him, right? Got the grace settled so he won't go nuclear?" Sandalphon nodded, slowly. "Then you can wing the fuck out of here back to Heaven."

With matching frowns, the four angels in the background vanished so quickly it stirred the air in a whirlwind. A clothes basket sitting in the corner toppled and scattered laundry to the floor, the curtains on the small window swayed back and forth, and the bedside lamp's bulb sparked and popped out.

"Yeah, screw you guys too," Dean snarled. Turning his ire towards Sandalphon and Jahoel, who had remained, he said, "And what are you still doing here?"

"Would you like to return to your home now?" the tall angel asked calmly, as though Dean wasn't silently threatening him.

…Oh, yeah. There was the little matter of being hundreds of miles from home without a car. Dean sputtered, still furious but relieved. He nodded.

"Jahoel, would you please inform their hosts we are leaving?" As the smaller angel turned away, Sandalphon touched Dean on the forehead and the next he knew they were in the duplex.

Castiel lay atop their faded patchwork quilt, wan and trembling, and Dean landed more roughly on his knees on the floor beside the bed. He cursed under his breath, disliking the tall angel just a little bit more.

"He will likely sleep for long periods of time the next several days," Sandalphon said calmly as Dean crawled to his feet, "but he is well. Allow him the rest, Dean Winchester."

Dean was pretty sure that was angel-talk _for 'don't try to have wild rambunctious thank-God-you're-still-alive sex',_ but he couldn't find it in himself to be really pissed about the warning, not with the words _'he will be well'_ attached.

"Thank you," he heard himself saying, words pushing past dry lips.

Something about the tall angel softened at the words. "Castiel cares for you, very much," was all he said, before he was gone with the sound of fluttering wings.

"Dean!" Sam burst into the room, panting heavily. Gail, Bobby and, oddly, Bill the gnome were right behind him. His brother swept him up into a crushing hug and Dean allowed himself to return it, tears that he absolutely wasn't going to acknowledge spilled from his eyes.

 

* * *

  
Days went by, and Castiel did sleep a great deal. When he wasn't asleep, angels would buzz into the duplex – uninvited, of course – like gnats you couldn't completely shoo away. They'd speak with Cas in low secretive tones about who-the-fuck-knew-what. He recognized each of the angels from Utah, the ones who'd helped settle Cas's grace, plus several others. They all looked upon Dean with blank faces, though he imagined disdain was lurking close behind.

But when Sandalphon came, there was a different sort of feeling; he and Cas seemed closer than they should've for knowing one another such a short time (Cas had said they'd never met before). Each time he visited, Sandalphon brought a gift – a glowing ball of light, in varying colors, which he removed from a long beaded necklace he always wore. These he would place gently into Castiel's palm, then close his vessel's giant hands easily around Cas's. Together they would sit for a moment in concentration, then Cas would take a deep breath and the light would spark between their fingers and vanish. The smiles they exchanged afterward made Dean's stomach flip in anger.

Dean fumed in silence because he was excluded almost pointedly, even by Cas. And he was _not_ going to be jealous of this Sandalphon character. Even if the angel was in a frankly handsome vessel – tall and lean but muscled, with milk chocolate skin, soulful nutmeg-colored eyes, and full lips that smiled only for Castiel... who might very well find that appealing. Not that Dean did, not even remotely.

What the fuck, when had he become _completely_ gay? He was only supposed to be gay for Cas, wasn't he? He still liked looking at women, didn't he? Why was he suddenly having a minor gay freak-out, _again_? One more thing he chose to blame on good old _Sandy_. Who was just reminding him of Cassie, that's all it was. And goddamn it… _Cas_ and _Cassie_ (shit, why had _that_ never occurred to him? he truly was dim) would look beautiful side-by-side…

Kicking the Impala's tires in frustration – then apologizing, since she was the only one paying attention to him lately – Dean crawled inside and put his head on the steering wheel. He was more confused, conflicted, worried, and a fuck-ton more other emotions than he was used to suppressing, and holding them back was harder than ever.

* * *

The one time Dean tried to confront Castiel directly, Cas had wavered on his feet and turned his eyes away. "I can't really speak of this now, Dean," he'd said stiffly, "there is so much…" And Dean had had no choice but let it go, for the moment.

Sam on the other hand, was smiling and happy (though the constant invasion of his bedroom by strange angels sent him over to sleep in Gail's bed, which made him – and her – even _more_ smiley). He perkily greeted his former angelic brothers when they arrived, and he and Jahoel especially seemed to get along, apparently chewing over 'the good old days' when they used to sit on clouds, singing and playing harps and smiting the wicked together. Then Dean smirked, remembering how Sam the angel was _persona non grata_ in Heaven toward the end, and felt a little less annoyed. And right after that, he felt guilty for being glad about it. He just couldn't win.

Now and again while Cas talked to his brothers, Dean overheard snatches of conversation. Not one word made any damned sense to him.

"—terribly clever, dwelling upon his worst memories rather than the best, and breaking through his cell… uniting with others… building those machines to translate—"

"—should be the liaison between angel and human souls… Zebhul needs to be rebuilt…"

"—have Astaphaeus speak to Ash—"

"—want communication with loved ones, the living—"

"—can Yofiel work with the cupids—"

"—guides for ascending souls as well, the reapers may need to be—"

And every time they realized Dean could hear, they would suddenly speak Enochian; even Cas. It was like being in freaking high school, and they were the popular crowd he couldn't be part of.

A whole week passed, and there wasn't a single day where Dean and Cas were alone for more than an hour. None of those hours felt normal either. Cas was remote and cool, and Dean was reminded uncomfortably of the old angelic Castiel when they'd first danced around each other, trying to avoid but comprehend the strangeness, all at once. He worried that the grace Cas had re-absorbed was changing him irretrievably.

More angels came and went, with more cryptic conversations.

"Raqia is worse than hell, it cannot abide—"

"But it is Hod… for ritual, submission, and prayer—"

"—as if a monastery? Receiving revelation from Makhon through—"

"—just as we nourish grace and form in Shechaqim, so we may nourish spirit and mind in—"

"—Zagzagael might be suited to—"

They didn't bother switching to Enochian much now. Though they might as well have done so, for all Dean could understand. Sam was all but moved in with Gail and still going to work steadily (how he could function normally while this otherworldly shit was happening in their own freaking house, Dean had no idea). And Dean felt very alone.

* * *

Sandalphon approached Dean one day as he sat sulking on the porch with a beer while Cas held another conference in the living room. The tall angel sat beside him, without asking permission as usual. A small flock of birds gathered on the lawn – sparrows and finches, he thought – and the angel conjured bread crumbs to toss. The birds hopped about eating, and a few courageous ones fluttered onto the stairs very near Dean's feet. When one landed on Sandalphon's hand, pecking the bread right from his palm, Dean snorted.

"Didn't know you were a Disney princess, _Sandy,_ " he sneered.

In far too familiar words, Sandalphon said, "I don't understand what you mean."

"Never mind. Just… I know you're out here to give me some kind of lecture or crap, so get it over with."

"Very well." Sandalphon shooed the birds away and dusted the crumbs from his large hands. "We realize how important Castiel is to you, Dean Winchester. And that you are unhappy with much of what is occurring at the moment."

"Way to understate the obvious."

"But you must understand how important he is to Heaven. How very unique he is. And how very much he's been blessed."

Dean stayed silent and waited for the wonderful revelations.

"Our Father chose him for a great task. When Castiel died, each time our Father brought him back, stronger in different ways. In the battle of your Utah, Castiel sacrificed his angelic being, believing he would be destroyed to save the world. This was nearly so. But at the last moment, he was taken away. Assumed bodily into Heaven, just as Enoch, Elijah, Mary and the Christ were. Castiel is in, as you would say, a very exclusive club."

Dean frowned deeply. These were not the sort of revelations he'd been expecting.

"When in Heaven, he was given a human soul, one that had been saved especially for him, for at some point it was _meant to be_ that he become human. And his body was healed, but for the scars of his sacrifice, and sent back to earth in a whirlwind. Back to the center of _your_ world, Dean Winchester." Sandalphon smiled at the significance.

Center of the world. Center of the country, really. Returning to Kansas in a tornado. How stupidly appropriate of them.

"So Cas getting tossed into the middle of Oz with no clue who he was or what was going on—that was all part of the _bigger plan_ you types like to spout about?" Dean had already suspected this but the confirmation still stung him on Castiel's behalf. "And I thought the things humans did to each other was fucked up."

Sandalphon gave him a cool stare went on and if Dean had never spoken. "Castiel was once a small soldier in a huge garrison, with some position of power but one easily reduced at a whim. When he fell and was reborn the first time, it struck fear into his superiors, and they desired greatly to prevent him rising any further. The second resurrection gave Raphael impetus to finally destroy humanity and take Father's throne, essentially becoming God. At that point, Castiel became a general. Many who would never have previously never dreamed of disobeying an archangel chose to follow him. Little did they realize Castiel was an archangel as well."

Dean's eyes flew wide and he nearly choked on his beer. "What the hell—"

"It was unknown to Castiel either. The transference was sudden and those who could sense it were not willing to inform him, naturally. It didn't matter really, until the final battle. Thanks to Raphael, he learned many things that had been kept secret. Now those things are coming to pass. They are unavoidable, Dean."

Still trying to catch his breath, Dean barked, "You're talking about fate and destiny and all that bullshit—"

"Yes, and Castiel understands this. He is embracing it as he should, as he _must._ His place in Heaven is—"

"Fuck that!" Dean spat and stood up, dumping the rest of his beer into the grass. "His place isn't in heaven, it's right here. You bastards play him like a fiddle, make him dance like a fucking puppet for millennia. Then you leave him here to suffer, not knowing who he is. And what, now you want him to play house in the clouds again? Be an archangel and wear a fancy new halo?"

Sandalphon sighed with less patience. "You misunderstand everything, Dean. This is more than the apocalypse or fighting Raphael. It's taking charge of Heaven itself."

Dean froze. He thought back to Crowley's words, that Castiel had been on his way to becoming a god. "What the hell do you mean?"

"Castiel is the Voice of God now. He is our leader. We are his Council. Together we are transforming Heaven for the sake of ourselves and for humanity, yourselves and your loved ones already there."

Sitting back down, Dean licked his suddenly dry lips. "So he's… actually… going back to Heaven…"

Sandalphon paused. "There are things he cannot avoid doing now, but whatever he decides in the end, I cannot say."

The world went suddenly hollow and Dean felt himself spiraling into the pit. He was losing Cas, again. For real and for good this time. Because how could one man compete with the full glory of Heaven itself?

* * *

  
There was something about sitting in the backyard, leaning against the trunk of the large maple tree, which calmed Castiel down. Perhaps the sturdiness of the tree, the feel of the ground beneath his hands; it was simple, organic, soothing. Maybe it was knowing he was still on earth and connected to it in visceral ways. Tilting his head back against the tree, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The night air was refreshingly cool, which also helped clear his head.

He was being pulled in a hundred directions. Dean had been clearly unhappy for several days and Cas didn't blame him. Their lives couldn't possibly get more complicated than they already were.

He should've known not to ever think such a thing, because Murphy's Law was one of the Fates favorite, and she had never really cared for him in the first place.

"How adorable," came Meg's sultry voice. "Meg and Castiel sitting in a tree—"

"Shut up." He didn't even bother opening his eyes.

"All you're missing is a fig leaf, sweetie. Then we could reenact the _real_ original sin."

Castiel sighed impatiently. "I didn't summon you, Meg."

"Aw, it's so cute how you think I'm under your thumb. Though I'm not opposed to that position…"

Cas winced and finally looked up at her, then caught his breath just a little.

She was wearing a tight purple tank-top shirt, black mini-skirt and knee high boots with no stockings. And from this angle he could damn near look right up those shapely legs to—

Flushing, he averted his gaze, but not before noting her coat. Dark blue, hanging lower than her skirt, just to the top of her boots. He wondered vaguely if she'd chosen the coat to match his own in some way…

She chuckled saucily. "Hmm, no need to hide your blushing eyes, Chickadee. You know you can do more than look if you want."

His meditative mood shattered, he sighed and got to his feet, dusting off his jeans. Still refusing to look her in the eye, he grumbled, "I don't want anything from you, Meg."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that…" She flicked her hands, and suddenly was holding Excalibur in one and Clarent in the other. "Left these behind."

"Oh," he said, surprised. He took the smaller blade and ran his fingers over the engravings. "I never expected to see them again."

"Well, they don't really belong down there. That one makes the help nervous," she smirked. "But I don't need anything so obvious to control the masses down below. My cleavage seems to keep them under thrall well enough."

There was an uncomfortable silence as Castiel shifted around, avoiding her gaze.

"So… How is life in Hell?" he finally inquired.

"Hey, it's good to be the Queen. Servants feeding me caviar, drawing bubble baths, manicuring my nails after a long day of eviscerating politicians. And of course," she sidled a bit closer, "keeping my promises to you…"

The significant, long, heated look she gave was beginning to set his face alight, but he still would not meet her eyes. Stepping back, cocking one hip and rolling her eyes, she said, "Fine, how are things in Heaven?"

"Overwhelming," he sighed, his tense posture relenting slightly. "I never anticipated such a thing when I went to retrieve my grace. Had I known, I might well have let Crowley keep it."

"Why? You went on every other quest without hesitation."

"And that's another thing," he muttered, frowning at the ground. "There were only four quests on the Lady's tapestry. We fulfilled them all. How did—" Suddenly it clicked into place, and groaned, "There were _five_ spaces. Four creatures, and one blank space."

"Ha, that's Tyronoe for you, leaving out important details. And using you to help her get her property back, while getting your own."

"What do you mean?" He looked up then, saw her wry smile and sympathetic eyes.

"Crowley, of course. Fergus MacLeod made some pretty hefty deals with the fae, back before he dealt with demons. Not sure why he thought he'd get away from her forever, but…" Meg shrugged. "You know, Josh left things pretty open-ended. About the actual quests themselves, I mean. All he wanted was for you to have your big shining epiphany at the end, but how it happened wasn't so important. He contracted me, and I was already working with Tyronoe to depose Crowley... it was practically serendipity." Her dark eyes shone as she said, "I already knew you well enough to figure out what would snag your attention. Plus I figured ingratiating myself to your Daddy wouldn't hurt if we were going to be... working, so close together."

Meg's words trailed off as she noticed Castiel following the movement of her chest as much as her words. It was practically an involuntary reaction on his part. He now understood some of Dean's less charming quirks. The difference being that since Castiel's latest resurrection Dean would simply glance and look away from whomever he was admiring, immediately putting his focus and attention back on Castiel... and Cas seemed unable to tear his gaze away from Meg.

Setting Excalibur against the tree trunk, she grinned and angled closer. "Come on, Hot Wings, Dean's not here now. Why fight it?"

Fate loved to prove everyone wrong today, it seemed.

"What's going on?" Dean snarled as he came around the corner of the duplex. "Meg, what the hell do you want?"

Smirking, she turned and drawled, "Why do you _always_ ask that when you already know the answer?" Her eyes flicked back to Castiel, and raked him up and down so thoroughly it was surprising his clothes didn't combust and leave him naked.

"Well, you can forget that. Go home and fuck a hellhound, bitch."

"So crude." Her smirk was less flirt and more contempt. "Considering I came to tell you that the contract on your soul is now voided." Dean swallowed nervously, clearly having forgotten that Meg technically would have held it now. Frankly, Castiel had also forgotten. "Also, I come bearing gifts…" Meg picked the sword back up and waggled Excalibur in the air as though it weighed nothing.

Dean's eyes widened, in a combination of boyish desire and nervousness. "Um, thanks, I guess." He took the sword from her, trying not to make any actual contact with her hand. He held it tightly, staring at it with an odd expression. Almost _hungry_.

Castiel realized Dean was feeling the power of Crowley's blood, which Excalibur had drunk, and fed into Dean. The sword was bonded to the one who'd first fed it their own blood, being Dean, and was likely now even tempting him. The only thing to do was…

"Meg, how do we return Excalibur to the Lady?"

She gave up hope of further sexual harassment. "Probably drop it in a pond somewhere. Bitch loves her tropes." With a twist of her lips, she said, "Call me sometime, for real. There's no reason we should let the past… _come_ _between_ us."

"Good-bye, Meg," Castiel grated out. There was a flicker across her face, mingled disappointment and resignation before she disappeared, finally. There was a whiff of sulfur mixed with… was it _lilacs_? Good grief.

Dean was still holding Excalibur, looking shaky, so Castiel led him gently inside. They would need to make plans to dispose of it, and soon. Until they figured out the where and how, he'd need to keep an eye on Dean and make sure there were no ill effects from the sword's proximity. Castiel told himself that he was uneasy because of Excalibur's presence and nothing more, pushing down the memory of Dean's unhappy smiles and tense posture. They'd get rid of the sword, break its hold on Dean, and then all would be well.

It had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:**  
>  \- We wanted to use middle names for both of the boys at one point, but canon doesn't provide any. So we took Mary Winchester's maiden name and made it Dean's middle name. (Although this isn't used in the chapter.) Sam's was a bit trickier. We finally decided to use the name Sam used for himself in 5.03 'Free to Be You and Me', only instead of being Keith Samuel, his name is Samuel Keith. So Sam was only fibbing to his co-worker. ;) Would provide links but Super Wiki seems to be down for the moment.  
> \- ['Lawn ornament](http://goo.gl/ghWiu)' is a reference to Terry Prachett's Discworld. In it, dwarves are sometimes called this... however, it is usually an insult. (Also, check out @Lawn_Ornament on Twitter, because it will be used.)  
> \- [Big Uglies](http://goo.gl/4FdlM) is a term used by dwarf rabbit breeders to describe “false” dwarves. It is also a term used by the Race in regards to humans in Harry Turtledove's WWII alternate history, [Worldwar](http://goo.gl/djzv4).  
> \- Castiel's faces are taken from Misha's description at a convention (Asylum 7? Can't find the video yet) where he says they are a lamb, a cat, a monkey and a zebra; the monkey and cat are always fighting, so that's why Castiel always looks annoyed.  
> \- We’ve already used the Judaic concept of [seven](http://goo.gl/5uRFJ) [heavens](http://goo.gl/DTU7a), as described in [Guiley’s “Encyclopedia of Angels”](http://goo.gl/O8Vez) entry for Enoch. The names are spelled according to [Godwin’s “Cabalistic Encyclopedia”](http://goo.gl/opdtQ), and combined with the[ Sephiroth](http://goo.gl/W2g1q) from [kabbalah](http://goo.gl/Wqnl2) traditions. (Note from QW: Already wrote the comparisons between these before even finding out it was already in practice, so Makhon and Araboth aren’t a perfect match, but I’m leaving it as written.)  
> - The fruit and its myriad forms, as well as the form of heaven, we're taking from the [Metatron's](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metatron%27s_Cube) [Cube](http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/geometria_sagrada/esp_geometria_sagrada_4.htm) combined with the form of a [Geodesic dome](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geodesic_dome). Neither of us is a mathematician, but the similarity of the concepts is quite intriguing. (Plus one of us is terribly fond of the quantum possibilities.)  
> \- See “Use Your Illusions” chapter 8 for explanations of Cassiel/Castiel and his position as archangel in charge of Araboth.   
> \- [Sandalphon](http://goo.gl/0DvMo) as we describe[ him](http://goo.gl/6S2Ai) is similar but not exact to tradition. You can find an entry on him in Guiley’s book. The garland of prayers and attachment come from research.   
> \- [Jahoel](http://goo.gl/s5Vh9) in our story is the same character found in “Use Your Illusions” chapter 7. We’ve actually combined him with another angel named Jael, who sat on the Ark of the Covenant with his twin Zarall. But due to the [importance of](http://goo.gl/px9s2) [Jahoel](http://goo.gl/JHdZ2) (and since the names are essentially the same) they were easier as a single character. See Guiley’s entries on those names for further details.  
> \- The concept of Metatron being a position rather than simply an individual comes from ideas found in Guiley’s book in particular. In entries for “Angels of the Presence”, “Angels of Sanctification” and others, a list of names is given, and these all connect directly to Metatron. Sandalphon and Jahoel are two of those listed.


	13. PART III - CHAPTER 11: Geodesic Dome; Section (b) "Make It Home"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean starts to break and Castiel puts him back together.

**Late July**

Cas, when he slept at all anymore, still shared the bed with Dean. But it was also chaste, minus a quick kiss good-night. This, more than just about anything else, sent Dean's nerves churning in panic.

Normal Cas – or at least since becoming _human_ Cas – was… well, pretty insatiable in the sack. The nights they'd fallen asleep without having Castiel's hand or mouth on Dean's cock at least once were pretty rare. Yet this situation… it was entering the second week. Dean's balls were nearly cobalt, but he could almost ignore it thanks to everything else on his plate.

Dean woke many times during the night, and lay staring at Cas the way Cas used to do to him. Cas seemed to be dreaming an awful lot, twitching sometimes and mumbling softly words that he couldn't quite make out, though they were likely another language anyway. It was like, even in his sleep, Castiel kept dealing with angel crap. Probably was.

Soon, Dean was sure, Cas would find it to be too much trouble, staying here, sleeping and being human while running Heaven. For all intents and purposes, _the guy was God_ and he was keeping up a pretense of being Dean's significant other. Probably out of some sort of sense of obligation, for Dean's sake.

Dean was used to being the one to make a break, clean and harsh and brutal, ripping the band-aid off and walking away. For some reason, this time… he just couldn't. How could he be that way with everyone else, even Sammy, but not Cas? Not again. Deep inside, where the little cracked off pieces of his heart were rattling around, was still enough flickering hope that he could hang onto this…

And if he couldn't, then he would make sure Cas never fucking forgot him. Kissing Cas's forehead in a schmaltzy way he wouldn't do if the other were awake, Dean settled back next to his lover and pulled him close. He shut his eyes and slowly went to sleep, wishing he could know what Cas dreamed of.

* * *

  
_He held the whole of existence in the palm of his hands, watching as it spun and weaved and twisted, its patterns and colors glorious. It was his, and he could make it dance. The world, paradise, even hell, could be remade into whatever Dean wanted…_

_Dean… no. Dean wouldn't want that._

_He could just flick his wrist and change Dean's mind._

_To do that he would have to change… Dean._

_No. Dean was Dean, the Righteous Man, the man he loved. The one he'd loved more than God, for which he'd been destroyed and remade three times. To be sent back again and again to be with Dean meant that Dean was the path he was meant to take. And Dean's path did not include perfection. No paradise, no hell. Just more of the same. Pain and all, Dean loved the world. So Castiel loved the world._

_The only things that must be changed were things so wrong the pain radiated into the fabric of reality, veins of poison creeping through the world, into the souls of mankind and into the angels who hated them. He would figure this out. And since somehow… he had the power to do so…_

_But he was afraid of himself. He'd gone nearly mad with power once before, glutted on souls of monsters, strong enough to fight and kill an archangel, to command an army, use the most precious weapons of Heaven, cast down the Leviathan. He who'd been so low and had fallen lower still, who'd been lied to all his existence, kept from his rightful place. And now he had the sword, the lance, the cup, the dish. The crown…_

_And… he could hold the world and Heaven in his hand... He was almost God…_

_NO._

_No. It was too much. Dean had been right, Sam had been right – he could easily become addicted once more._

_He was human. He was angel. He was God. He was nothing…_

_**WHAT AM I?** he cried out, but was not answered. _

_He shook his head, backed away, faded into the shadow of space. The view of heaven grew smaller and smaller until it was but a pinprick of twinkling light._

_And suddenly it was bright and sunny, and he was standing in shade of a tall palm tree, its fronds swaying in a very slight breeze. There was a ring of trees around a small pool, an oasis. The sand beneath his bare feet was cool in the shelter of the trees, but he could feel the breeze bring heat from the desert, baked by an unrelenting sun._

_He felt so small in his vessel, with the trees towering over him._

" _Where is this place?" he asked of the air._

" _A part of Shechaqim. Welcome to my favorite heaven, Castiel."_

_Terror thrummed through Castiel's veins as he turned to see Sandalphon, wearing his own vessel, dressed in long robes which could have come from the old Holy Lands. The tall angel nodded in greeting._

" _This is the Heaven of Elijah. My dearest friend…" He gave a sad smile. "Some have written that Elijah and I were the same being, that when Elijah rode the whirlwind to Heaven that he became the angel Sandalphon. This, of course, was exaggeration, but it was not a baseless assumption. He and I were… close. I found his company pleasing, and I sought to understand humanity through him. Without falling, it seemed I could not truly do so, but I was too afraid to try. I'd seen the results with Lucifer and Samael, and how truly miserable they became. So I begged to have Elijah with me in Heaven, and God blessed me and granted that request. But it went wrong…"_

_His dark eyes lowered and he stepped closer to one of the trees, placing his hand upon its trunk. "Michael came between us, felt that no human should hold such influence over an angel. After Father left, Elijah was sent like all humans into the cells of Shechaqim, and though I went to see him time to time, he did not recognize me anymore. Thanks to you, my brother," Sandalphon looked back at Castiel now, with a small smile, "he has the opportunity to free himself and join the rest of Heaven. And perhaps we can regain our friendship. I would wish to connect with a human as you have with the Righteous Man."_

_Castiel's throat worked hard and he opened his mouth to speak, but only harsh breaths came out. He hadn't known that any other angel shared such a desire. That another had a profound bond with a human, and had been denied the chance to experience it. His heart ached for Sandalphon. And for Dean. If Sandalphon was telling him it was a choice between Heaven and Dean, there was no choice._

" _Please," he begged, "take it from me. All of it. Take my grace." At his brother's flinch, he turned away to stare blankly across the wide sands. "I cannot be what Heaven wants. I cannot be here and leave Dean behind."_

_Sandalphon nodded, but then said bluntly, "To strip you of your remaining grace would destroy you, Castiel. I do not wish to see your death because of stubbornness. But I do understand the burden you face." He put a large hand on Castiel's shoulder and turned him slowly around. "I was Metatron too, for a long while. Enoch stepped down, and Jahoel took up the role. Other angels followed, among them myself. Each of us who've held the office found it daunting at first. But none of us but Enoch was created for it, merely filled the role as best we could. You were made to—"_

" _It doesn't matter," Castiel whispered. "I was used and played my entire existence, lied to, beaten down…"_

" _And I wish that I could turn change that. Even an archangel cannot turn time back that far, nor change the course of our Father's plans for another angel. I am sorry most of all that I did not know what they had done to you, or I would have stopped them myself. The best I could do, when I saw you walk upon the earth without memory, was to send a winged messenger to remind you. The birds of the world… they are mine," he smiled gently. And so Castiel knew the beautiful osprey had truly been an agent of heaven._

_Sandalphon's fingers twitched reflexively as he continued. "I was wrong to trust Michael's word, to let him push me aside and become Metatron himself in his bid to bring stability as he saw it, by ending the world. But I was weary and no longer sure what God wanted."_

_Castiel was glad to know that he was not alone in experiencing doubt in the Word, even if only on a smaller scale._

" _Will you forgive me, brother?"_

_Castiel looked up into the warm brown eyes and gave a faint smile. "There is nothing to forgive," he said, because it was true. "You were fooled as we all were."_

_Sandalphon nodded and dropped his hands. "It will be different for you, Castiel, since you were destined for this. You are, like Enoch, human as well as angelic. Metatron was intended to be the liaison between human and Heaven's will, and being part human made that simpler for him. None of us were ever human and the understanding of humanity has always been a challenge." He chuckled. "You, however, sought to know more. As though you knew, on some level, how important it was."_

" _I would have preferred not to fall and suffer for it."_

" _I regret that you did. And I don't pretend any longer to understand our Father's plans for you, or Heaven, or anything else. He has been absent so long…" Sandalphon sighed restlessly. "But if anyone is to take the Seat and be the Voice, you are the best choice."_

" _That remains in doubt," Castiel frowned. "My decisions are flawed."_

_Sandalphon looked upon him with sympathy. "Be that as it may, you are the Metatron and we cannot change it now. It is, as humans would say, set in your DNA. It is what you are and what you shall be until the day you return to Heaven." Castiel opened his mouth to protest and Sandalphon held up his hand. "I did not mean now. You are not required to live with us if you do not wish it. There is an option I believe will suit you…"_

_The tall angel walked slowly toward the pool in the center of the ring of palm trees. "Do you remember Enoch's tale? He was both human and angel, as I said. But he was both things at the same time. When he was first brought to Heaven in mortal form, he met himself. A part of Enoch had already been transformed into angelic grace, had become the Metatron. Enoch's mind found it difficult to accept, and so he was made to forget during his waking hours. Instead, he visited Heaven in his dreams and performed his role at God's side. When he died, he ascended beyond human souls and dwelled in Araboth until he chose to step down, then joined them in Shechaqim."_

_Sandalphon had reached the water's edge, and knelt to scoop water into his hands. Cupping it carefully, he turned to Castiel, who found himself automatically cupping his own and accepting the water as it flowed from Sandalphon's hands._

_The cool liquid sparkled white in the bright sunlight, like liquid grace. And Castiel knew that the Grail quest was truly at an end._

_He'd drunk from the cup, bled and died and been reborn, and what he had become…_

_Destiny and Fate weren't the same beings, he knew that. The Fates were stubborn, expected everyone to toe the line and would weave and cut threads until you did so. It's possible they had done it to him, but he might never know. One's destiny… a knight would chase the Grail for eternity, certain that it was his destiny to obtain and the search became his privilege. He had fulfilled that part of his destiny and become the Metatron, and the Archon of Light._

_But destiny was the big picture. And the big picture was never really over._

_Sandalphon gave a small smile, knowing Castiel's thoughts. "Yes. Being human has given you the insight to know these things, in a way that angels find difficult. I get the sense of it through you." The angel's hands, still damp from the water, wrapped around Castiel's shoulders. There was a connection between them that warmed Castiel and made him smile._

" _So I will go home, and be human," Castiel said with determination, "and dream as Enoch did, returning here in my sleep to be Metatron."_

" _Yes. Your entry to the Throne will be through Da'ath, in the abyss of dreams below Makhon. The door is always open to you."_

" _And you... you will help me?"_

" _If you wish, brother."_

" _I do. You know that I cannot do this alone. The power… it's too much on my own." Castiel's hands closed slowly around the water, and it dripped through his fingers into the sand. "I will lose control of it and of myself, if you are not there to check me. I need you."_

_Sandalphon leaned forward, touching his forehead to Castiel's. They closed their eyes, sighing in unison. There was a bond here, one that Cas felt he'd missed in all his existence as an angel. Never had any brother or sister felt so much a part of him as Sandalphon did._

_Quivering, Castiel pulled back slightly. His dream-imagined human skin felt too small to contain his nearly-infinite being. Taking a deep breath, he looked into Sandalphon's deep eyes. "I must go home now. Will I remember this when I wake?"_

_Nodding, the angel clasped Castiel's hands in his own. "You will remember." With one last small smile, he said, "I will await your return."_

* * *

  
Dean was trying; he really was. Since his conversation with Sandalphon he knew how Castiel was being pulled in a million different directions, but he had to make his own desires clear. He wanted Cas staying with him, on earth.

He started small: made Cas's favorite breakfast in the mornings, rubbed his shoulders and back at night. It was after Dean began telling Castiel to not worry himself over his half of the chores, that Dean would do them for him, that Castiel had snapped.

"Why are you acting like my servant, Dean? Or behaving as though I am once again the invalid you recovered from the hospital?"

Carefully setting the dish he'd been drying down on the kitchen counter, Dean said, "I'm just trying to be nice."

"Well, it seems to me that you either feel obligated to do these things or guilty about something."

At the word _guilty_ Dean exploded. "What the fuck would I have to feel guilty about? So what, I can't do something for you without having a motive? Fuck you, man."

This outburst was fueled by the fact that he did, in a way, feel guilty. And frankly ridiculous by trying to lure Cas into choosing him over Heaven by way of blackberry-pancakes, back rubs, and a lighter chore load. But the angel hadn't seemed amenable to any physical overtures, and Dean hadn't known what else to do. He'd learned the hard way that _sex_ sure as hell didn't cure anything, when it came to Cas.

The fight was prevented from going any further by the appearance of yet another angel. Castiel had given him a very serious Look and then left, encouraging the angel to follow him with a wordless wave.

Afterwards they had several tense days of short snappish exchanges and unspoken apologies given by simple chaste gestures, followed by nights of the same, before the morning of truly worrisome conversations.

Dean was standing zombie-like at the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing extra strong, when he heard Cas's familiar gruff voice from the living room.

He didn't hear anyone else responding, so maybe he would be lucky and find Cas on the phone instead of talking to a bunch of angels. There had been a few calls from actual human beings in the last week, so far as he could tell, though he had no idea what about. Maybe Cas wouldn't mind some company and a cup of Joe.

Dean poured a big mug for himself and one for Cas – in that stupid bright red mug with a pony on it, of all things – making sure to add the nearly half-gallon of soy milk Cas preferred, of course. He juggled the mugs carefully as he nudged his way through the curtain between the kitchen and Sam's pretty much abandoned bedroom.

Before he got halfway across the room, he heard another voice. An angel, he was sure. Well, his morning was ruined already.

Putting the mugs down on the dresser by the door, he used one finger to tug aside the curtain leading to the living room, just enough to peek out without being noticed.

Castiel was sitting in Sam's desk chair, turned to face three angels Dean had never seen before. They were lined up on the sofa, backs stiff and looking particularly somber as Castiel spoke with a very stern tone.

"I must do this, it _cannot_ be allowed to go unaddressed."

"But _Maon_ ," the one on the furthest left said, "it is sealed tight for good reason."

This small amount of dissent spurred the others to defend whatever Castiel had been discussing. A quiet argument broke out, as Dean tried to piece together what was going on.

"It doesn't matter. The boy doesn't deserve—"

"Agreed. We can do this together. The bonds were broken before—"

"With great difficulty and leading to disaster—"

"For different purposes, and at the hands of lesser beings than we are."

"Our brothers cannot be underestimated! They are furious and vengeful. If they were to trap us with them—"

"That will not happen," came Castiel's firm voice. "The Council will hold the gate open, and I shall retrieve the boy _myself_. They will not stop me."

And the matter seemed closed.

Dean's gut clenched tight. Something fucking huge was going down and if Cas was in the thick of it, he had to know. He pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the living room. The three angels bowed their heads in eerie synchronization and vanished.

"What the hell was that about?" he demanded.

Castiel merely sighed and smiled faintly. "I don't want to bore you with heavenly bureaucracy, Dean. I know your feelings for the majority of my brothers. Don't worry, they won't be coming and going like this for much longer." He rose and gave Dean a swift, dry kiss to the cheek, and then left the room without answering a damned thing.

Dean made to follow but Cas was quicker, ducking into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. The bolt slid home, and Dean heard the shower start.

Fuck this. Fuck _everything._ Dean stomped back to get the mugs of coffee, poured Cas's down the drain in spite, and chugged his fast now that it wasn't scalding hot. Then he stormed outside to see if any yard work needed doing before the weather got unbearable.

When he came back inside an hour later, he was a sweaty sticky mess, and covered with dirt, but in a somewhat better frame of mind.

Trimming tree limbs wasn't his favorite task, but it had been satisfying to snap them off with shears, since he didn't have any monster heads to chop off right now.

That's what he needed to do. Go hunting, and _soon_. Even if Meg was supposed to be herding all her demons back to hell, there was plenty more nasty shit roaming around that didn't come from downstairs. He'd just call up to Bobby's, see if there was a job to be done, and maybe talk Sam into dragging his ass along. It would be good to get out there and gank some evil sons of bitches.

Looked like Cas was done with the shower, and back in the living, on the phone with who-knew-who. Maybe, now that his angel buddies were supposed to be hanging around less, like Cas said… maybe they could try to get things back to normal. He really shouldn't let his worries come from listening to other angels.

Dean cleaned up and got dressed, and was nearly into the living room when his Zen attitude flew out the window.

"The paperwork is all there?" Cas said into the phone. "And the funds are to be transferred to Dean's account here in Salina? Mmm." A long pause, then, "Except for those, of course. I do wish to provide for Claire's future—I did make her father a promise, and I intend to uphold it."

Provide. For Claire's future. And _his_ , obviously. The words plinked to the bottom of Dean's stomach like stones sinking in a pond, and sat there stirring up the muck he'd been holding inside.

Castiel was oblivious to his presence, talking away on his cell phone, carefully paving a way of escape. But being the gentleman, angel, whatever he was, making sure Dean was 'comfortable' before he left. Like a kept woman who had exceeded her lover's usefulness.

Dean turned around and stumbled back outside. He had to get out, do something, summer heat be damned. He had the Impala started and out of the driveway before he'd consciously decided to. He drove aimlessly for a while, taking turns at random until he came to Central Mall. He fucking hated the mall. He had dirt on his knees and his shoes were filthy. He went inside anyways. At least the mall was air-conditioned.

He would have grabbed a pretzel, was in fact in line to get one when he realized in his hurry to get out of there he'd left his wallet at the house. So instead he wandered, drifting in and out of stores without really seeing any of the merchandise. Dean had never been there by himself, and didn't have any idea what to do if he wasn't following someone else around. Even the western-themed 'cowboy' store failed to hold his interest for very long, and usually he could fritter away an hour just looking at the new belt buckles or boots.

His feet eventually led him to the mall's aquarium. Kansas Fishes was small, featuring fish indiginous to the midwest and nothing else, but it had benches and it was quiet. Dean collapsed onto one, the wooden slats digging into his backside uncomfortably, and watched the fish swim. Occasionally a turtle would float by the tank, and despite his black mood Dean felt one corner of his mouth flirt with a smile.

Dean was wilting by the time he crawled back to the house for yet another shower and – finally – food. He'd stayed out as long as he could, but the mall closed and he'd been gently told that he needed to leave by one of the aquarium's caretakers and he simply hadn't known where else to go.

He showered sluggishly, letting the water just flow over his head as it was bowed under the spray. His thoughts had been numbed by the over-worked and over-heated state he was in now, so when Castiel opened the door and peeped in Dean barely turned his head as the shower curtain was tugged aside.

Castiel smiled at Dean. It was that tiny smile that just decorated the edges of his lips, the kind you wouldn't really notice unless you knew to look for it. But it meant Cas was actually happy about something. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was.

"When you're done," Cas said, "we'll have dinner and then I have some news."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, "sure." Then he put his face back under the water.

Ten minutes later, the water was cold and he was a prune. But he managed to get dressed and make it through the door into the kitchen. Cas had made a simple meal – chicken breasts sautéed with mushrooms, spinach and tomatoes – and Dean wasn't especially hungry but knew if he didn't eat he'd truly drop over. They ate in relative silence.

Finally, Dean set down his fork. "You said you had news?" He mentally braced himself for whatever Cas was about to say, ignoring the small part of him that screamed _not ready for this not yet not yet_...

"I believe I have found a location suitable for the disposal of Excalibur that is relatively close by."

_Oh. Well, then. Wrapping up loose ends all around, wasn't he?_

Dean kept his eyes firmly off of Castiel as he got up from the table, unable or unwilling to look him in the face. "Great. Wonderful. Lemme get my keys and we can go."

* * *

  
The house and, more importantly the pool behind it, had been abandoned for years. It sat on a long stretch of country highway with the nearest house not even visible in the distance. The rusted gate surrounding was protected by a padlock with a thin chain, easy enough for a Winchester since they'd never be caught without a pair of bolt cutters in the car.

"How'd you find this place?" Dean asked as they traipsed through the overgrown yard. They didn't even need flashlights, the moon was so bright tonight.

"It's listed on a realtor's page as having been on the market for some time. The pool was apparently left uncovered and with many seasons of rain and snow, it's quite full."

"How do we know there's no one – or nothing – squatting in it?"

"It's empty, trust me."

Dean was silent for the last several yards. Probably angels or fairies or whatever had been out to check for him. Nice to have connections. He should be grateful for that much, but it just tightened his jaw in annoyance.

"So," he said stiffly, "the only place to dispose of the sword is definitely in a body of still water?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, voice as blank as his face.

It was so... angelic, unfeeling and cold and so _not_ what Dean was wanting to see. He found himself aching for the humanity that Castiel used to show so openly before they went to Hell. He never thought he'd have to miss _his_ Cas, the one of the early morning kisses and carefully pressed dress clothes as much as he'd missed the rumpled, slap-dash angel now beside him. Dean had gotten used to the Castiel who fussed over his clothing and was careful and neat. The now-an-angel-again beside him felt in some ways like a near stranger.

They reached the edge of the pool, which was full and rank, and even by the moonlight the slimy green color was obvious. Dean had smelled worse things in his lifetime of digging up corpses, but this was still pretty foul. Wrinkling his nose, he asked, "You're really sure? We couldn't just go find some lake or stream or something… nicer?"

"As certain as I can be," Cas said, and damn, that was not reassuring. "Gail and I questioned Bill, and he confirmed this was the likeliest method."

Dean sighed deeply. He stared up at the moon, full and somehow eerie. Somewhere there was a werewolf eating someone's heart, there always was. Right now, he felt a little bit like his own heart was on the menu. Something about this act, getting rid of the sword, seemed so final. Like the last little thing they needed to do before it all fell apart…

He whispered, "Man, I really kinda don't want to—"

"That's the sword's influence upon you," Castiel said before Dean could finish talking. "That's why this must be done as soon as possible. Now, in fact. The sooner a temptation is set aside the easier it is to overcome. To allow oneself to linger over the decision may lead to regrettable situations."

Perhaps if Dean had been less self-involved at that moment, he'd have noticed the strange tenor in Castiel's words, that they seemed to have more than one meaning. But all he wanted now was to get it the hell over with. The sword had resisted two previous attempts at disposal – he'd even dropped it down a sewer drain out of spite – only to have it stubbornly re-appear in the Impala's trunk. So if a stinky green swimming pool was the way to go, fine.

And Cas seemed to be losing patience with him as well. Maybe thinking that Dean was as stubborn as the sword, wanting to hang on to it like it was clinging to him. Like he was clinging to Cas…

Goddamn it.

"Nope," Dean grumbled, "I'm pretty sure the problem is I'm about to try fucking return _Excalibur_ to the watery tart who offered it in the first place."

Castiel shifted to stand in front of him, eyes so clear and brow so earnest. For half a moment, Dean thought he might be mistaken about Cas's feelings. But no, it was only to get his attention so he could say, "I would do it for you Dean, but I can't. The sword has eaten your blood, and accepted by your hand. It must be given back by you alone."

Shoulders slumping, Dean said simply, "Yeah. Got it."

He stepped toward the pool, and heaved his arm back, then threw the sword with all his strength towards the stagnant water. There was a moment where it hovered—where it actually fucking _paused_ in mid-fucking-air—and then there was a burst of light and the sword was just gone, as if it never was.

"Damn," Dean whispered in awe. And then, because it seemed Castiel expected him to say something more, "I really liked that sword."

* * *

  
They were maybe a half hour outside of Salina, nothing around them but rolling countryside and amber friggin' waves of grain (or maybe corn) flashing by in the Impala's headlights, when Dean pulled over. There was the entry to a small farmer's path that looked rarely used, and it was hidden slightly by scrubby bushes from the road. As good a place as any to stop. He killed the ignition and doused the headlamps before taking a deep breath and turning towards his... towards Castiel.

"Cas, we need to talk."

_Startled_ didn't begin to cover the expression on Castiel's face. _Petrified_ was closer. Letting out a small huff of laughter, Dean said quietly, "Damn it, Cas, you have to stop watching those fucking rom-coms with Gail and Sam." Making a joke of something important, the way he always did.

In response Castiel's brow twitched, barely, and he looked out at the pitch darkness. "Can't this wait until we get home?"

Licking his lips, Dean said, "I don't think it should, Cas. No."

Dean and relationships just didn't work, it was bound to come to this, and he would rather not drag out the painful aspects of estrangement. He had put himself _totally out there_ for Cas, put all his chips in, gave every single thing he had to give… but Castiel was all angeled-up again and running motherfucking _heaven_ for God's sake. There was no room in all of that for _Dean_. How _could_ there be? He opened his mouth to say that he understood, that Castiel didn't need to feel like he had to stick around for poor Dean's pitiful _human_ feelings… then stopped.

Cas looked visibly confused and more than a bit annoyed. Probably anxious to get back to heaven and be with his angel buddies. And suddenly Dean just couldn't take it. He reached out and yanked Castiel to him in a kiss, teeth clacking with Cas's in his awkward desperation.

Tentatively, without any of the fire he usually showed when they did this, Cas began to kiss him back, movements clumsy and slow. It was so reminiscent of how Castiel returned his kisses, long ago in Utah, that one single night they had when his grace held Dean's soul. _Hell, no, that wouldn't work._ It was all or nothing, now. And Dean wanted as much as he could get before there really _was_ nothing…

He pushed Castiel backwards, and Cas's head bumped against the door panel. Cas frowned but didn't have time to object before Dean was on him again, jamming his tongue into Cas's mouth, pushing and tugging until Cas got the hint and moved to lie flatter on the seat. All the while Dean trailed his mouth along Cas's cheek and jaw, down his throat, sucking on the softer skin below the stubble line and received a grunt that sounded positive. Shaky fingers fumbled at Cas's shirt buttons as Dean tried desperately to get at more skin. Cas wiggled around a little more, but wasn't helping yet; he seemed bewildered, and that pissed Dean off.

By now Dean had exposed the scar on Cas's breastbone, and he ran his lips across it. He slithered downward, nearly bending in half to lick at each new inch of skin as he struggled with shirt buttons. Finally he was scrunched up against the steering wheel and the driver's side door, and that was just too uncomfortable, even for him. He let go of Cas's shirt long enough to reach back and pop the door open, and stuck one foot outside. Now at least he had a little leverage and room to move.

Cas was staring at him with the widest eyes, so blue even in the darkness. _So angelic._ It spurred Dean on.

Wiggling upward again, Dean finished the buttons, kissing Cas's stomach, tonguing the long scar under his ribs, dipping into Cas's navel as he unbuckled the belt and unzipped the slacks. Now Cas finally got with the program just a little bit, helpfully lifting his hips a fraction so Dean could pull the slacks and boxers down until they were just under the swell of his ass. Cas's cock was still mostly soft, which made Dean frown, but he would soon take care of that. He took the whole thing in his mouth, suckling not-so gently, and felt the skin tighten and swell, pushing against his tongue until it was slipping out from his lips. Cas was panting now, slow and shallow, and his cock pulsed just enough to give Dean a taste of pre-cum. _That's more like it._

Pulling off the tip, he dragged his tongue down one side of the shaft, nuzzled against the short bristly hair over Cas's balls, breathing in the clean musk, and licked back up the other side, taking the head into his mouth again. Cas gave a tiny low moan, breath hitching.

God, he wanted Cas, _all_ of Cas. He wanted to suck down Cas's dick so deep it would nearly gag him, hit the back of his throat, swallow every bit of come for the first time. He wanted to lick Cas open. He hadn't done that yet, but he wanted to before the chance was gone forever. Dean wanted Cas's legs slung over his shoulders, to push his tongue inside over and over until Cas was howling. He wanted to put his dick in there and pound Cas's prostate until Cas screamed his name like a prayer. Most of all, Dean wanted to feel Cas's cock stretch him open, leave him sore and aching for days after. He wanted Cas inside him, wanted Cas to come, hot and dirty and so basely _human_ deep, deep inside, to be able to keep it there.

Choking back a moan, Dean fumbled with his own belt and zipper. He was sprawled across Cas's legs, his own hanging half out of the Impala, and this was just ridiculous, but the idea of taking time to crawl into the back seat wasn't an option. It was here and now, however uncomfortable.

He toed off his boots while trying to get his pants undone, and was surprised when Cas's foot came up and nudged at the waistband, helping push it down. Good, that meant Cas was more onboard than before. Dean yanked them down along with his boxer briefs, and got one leg off but the other was just snagging too much so he said the hell with it. He ripped his t-shirt over his head in one smooth move and dropped it into the grass and crawled back into the car, across Cas's prone form.

He straddled Cas's hips as best he could while half-in half-out of his jeans, and felt like an idiot, but stopping was out of the question. Instead he locked his knees around, and leaned down low to breathe hotly on Cas's stomach while groping around under the seat for the box of supplies, including lube, and found it on the third try. Cas's hands stroked randomly across Dean's back and shoulders, like he didn't know what to do with them. Dean sat up enough to drizzle nearly half the bottle of lube over Castiel's cock, and grunted in pleasure as the angel hissed at the sensation of cold liquid.

He loved Cas's cock. How it was so stiff and curving slightly, prettily, to the right. How it was angled just about perfect once inside him. Like it was built just to probe Dean in all the right places. He whimpered as he shimmied forward further, and took a palm full of lube and opened himself perfunctorily with two fingers, breathing heavily through his nose as he rode out the slight burn. It'd been way too long since they'd had sex, too long since Castiel had touched him this way. He looked down at Cas while he was shoving his fingers into his ass, and saw the wide dark pupils staring up at him, mouth open and breathing shallow.

Cas's head was still propped against the door so it was easy for Dean to learn forward and brush his mouth against those full lips. While they breathed together, barely kissing, Dean positioned himself and sank down onto Cas's cock with one long push. Cas cried out, hands scrabbling at the air before finding Dean's arms, blunt nails digging into flesh as he shuddered.

"Fuck, Cas… Wanna feel you. Scratch me, bite me. Wanna…" Swiveling his hips, Dean settled fully, relishing the feel of warm soft skin flush against his ass. "Wanna bite you, suck you, m-ark y-ou…" He began to ride Cas slowly, short shallow thrusts, body curved to keep them close. So close that Dean could feel his nipples brushing Cas's chest, pebble hard from arousal and cool night air. "Mark you to show you're mine, just as much as… I'm yours."

Whining softly, Cas was now thrusting into him, and Dean tipped his head back and sighed. _Yes, Cas could still feel this. He still wanted it._ Dean grasped tightly to the dashboard with one hand and stroked the other down Cas's chest, over the scars, and where now-invisible sigils had once been carved into the angel's chest, which had been used to banish himself and other angels. So much Cas had done… _so much_ …

"You did these things… for me," Dean whispered, rocking his body slowly, "you burned and scarred yourself… cut yourself up and open… for me… marked yourself, for me." Cas groaned louder, staring up at Dean with eyes so dark and deep. "You marked me too," Dean panted, "dug inside me, put words on my bones… wrote on my soul… my arm… you marked me the minute you saw me. That's how long you've… you—"

There was a moment of silence, but for the sound of slick bodies sliding together, unable to stop themselves. They stared into one another until Dean said, "Touch it, Cas… _touch it…"_

Castiel's hand glided upward, curled his fingers around the mark. He cried out hoarsely and Dean was surprised to feel Cas release. It was too soon, much too soon _,_ Dean wasn't ready for this – _for them_ – to be over. Desperately, he continued riding as Cas pumped him full, refusing to stop until Cas was slipping out, soft and slick with lube and come. Taking himself in hand, Dean jerked perhaps half a dozen times and then he was coming, splattering across Cas's belly and chest. But still Dean wasn't done. As his body was trembling with the first shocks of post-orgasmic fatigue, he dipped his fingers into his seed, still warm, and smeared it across Castiel's skin, drawing a jagged line from belly to throat. He sketched a line over Cas's chin, cheek, lips, painting his face with it. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he was marking Cas again in a very primal way – marking as though Cas was personal territory to be guarded. He didn't care; it was how he felt.

Cas made broken, needy little noises and they were glorious to Dean's ears. Leaning down, Dean licked the wet trail he'd made, sucking the salty mess from Cas's lips. They kissed slow and soft for a few minutes, sharing the taste, and finally Dean broke away to breathe against Cas's cheek.

He was suddenly incredibly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and hold Cas against his chest, leg wrapped tight around Cas's knees. To never let him go. But it was too late and he knew it was pointless to fight anymore.

He reached underneath the seat again, found the box of tissues he'd finally remembered to stash there, and wiped them as clean as he could. Sliding backward out of the car, he struggled into his pants and boots. All but staggering now from fatigue, he went to sit back in the driver's seat but Castiel pulled him over to the passenger's side, and went around, taking the wheel himself.

"I'm not as tired as you seem to be, Dean," he said quietly, "so I'll drive us back to the duplex."

Dean didn't argue, just nodded. But he hadn't failed to notice that Cas didn't say _'drive us home'_. And the little spear to his heart made him so weary that he all but fell asleep against the window, listening to the drone of the tires on the highway.

* * *

 

They were inside the city limits now, passing the all-night gas stations, the early morning diners. It was about four a.m. by Cas's guess.

The night had been tense, and even sex hadn't helped. In fact, it had increased Cas's inner turmoil. He had to tell Dean. The need to unburden himself was burning him up inside. Even if Dean hated him, couldn't forgive him…

There were fifteen minutes of stop lights and street signs before they reached home. Dean was slumped over, head propped on the side window, and looked like he might be sleeping but Cas couldn't tell for certain. Perhaps if he just bit the bullet, as Dean would say, and spat it out…

"Dean," Cas said, repeating earlier words that had put his own heart in his throat, "we need to talk."

A very soft _fuck_ was his answer. Dean sat up and without turning toward Cas, said in a low voice, "Yeah, I figured it was coming."

Cas startled slightly, confused. Had he been told? Or somehow figured things out? _Was that the reason for his uncharacteristically demanding love-making? Staking his claim over a rival?_ Despite himself, Castiel shivered pleasantly at the idea. No, he didn't mind Dean marking him up, making visible that profound bond.

But he couldn't be sure what Dean knew until he actually said it aloud…

"I nearly had sex with Melca."

Dean pushed himself upright, and Cas saw the reflected white of his eyes while passing under a street light.

"I'm sorry," Dean said very slowly, voice still dragging with exhaustion, "I think I must've heard you wrong. I thought you said you almost fucked Meg."

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Cas nodded. "That would be correct."

Dean was quiet so long Castiel almost convinced himself the other man had fallen back asleep and that he'd hallucinated the dangerous edge in Dean's voice at the word _'fucked'_. It wasn't until the Impala was pulling into the duplex's driveway that Dean spoke again, and when he did the words came slowly, like being ripped from his throat, one by one.

"I think," he said, "you had better start fucking explain just what the fuck you're talking about." Castiel barely turned his head, just enough to see Dean's throat bobbing as he forced out the final words, "Right the fuck now."

With a deep breath and a silent plea to a God he was certain wasn't listening that Dean might understand and even forgive, Castiel did.

 

* * *

_Through the spheres came the call: **Castiel, come to the Garden.** And in a flash, he was there. _

_In the beauty of the meadow, with trees of all kinds ringing the singular Tree, stood Joshua. Castiel approached and as he came closer, seeing the plain robes, the bare feet, the gentle smile… he knew at last who the angel truly was._

_The Son of God, risen from the mortal world to join his Father in Heaven. The Christ had chosen the Garden as his own, a place of peace and eternal growth, and solitude unless he felt it necessary to intervene with heavenly matters. Here Joshua spoke to God, when God decided to speak. Castiel knew he too should be able to do this, but God had chosen to stay away and leave the workings of heaven to His children. God, Whom he had met only once, embodied in a small man who drank too much and wrote the Gospels. Castiel was sure he would never speak to that person again._

_And now Joshua was the authority to whom he would ultimately answer. He was here to be judged for his actions. He knelt before the Son, bowing his head and silently asking forgiveness for any transgressions._

_Joshua laughed softly. "Castiel, you needn't worry. You're doing fine."_

_Castiel looked up at the Christ, his eyes wide in relief. "Is there anything I may do for you, my Lord?" he asked._

" _For me? Nothing at all. For yourself… that remains to be seen." Joshua smiled enigmatically and waved Castiel to walk with him._

_They slowly approached the shade of the Tree, where a small dark figure was waiting. A petite woman in long black dress, dark hair curling down to brush bare white shoulders. The mass of ruffles at the top of the dress fell over her bosom, held up by a black corset. On her head was a crown, a delicate silver thing that spiked like frozen flames, tipped with black and red jewels._

" _Castiel," Joshua said, "you are here to meet your bride."_

_Brow furrowing, Castiel looked down at his own clothing, and saw that it was the same as when he lay in repose upon the marble. White tunic over breeches and chainmail, a cloak across his shoulders. Ceremonial garb for a funeral, a coronation, a wedding. He could feel the crown upon his head, and it still sat heavily but he was becoming accustomed to it._

_Eyes dark and twinkling, the woman's lips twitched coyly at Castiel as she raised her arm. A dainty hand, nearly concealed by long ruffled sleeves took his hand and squeezed it._

_Joshua spoke again. "Dark and light. Man and woman. Heaven and Hell. King and Queen. God and goddess. Humanity came to understand the universe has duality in all things. When these things lack balance, so does the world between the realms. You are the embodiments of these forces, opposite sides of one coin. You have long felt this, compelling you toward one another, a magnetic pull beyond words. Through each other, you will know more than you could ever know apart."_

_Castiel felt himself nod. It seemed so obvious now, that everything had been leading to this point. He looked upon the woman and felt himself flush with desire._

" _Will you choose to join together, to bring full balance to the realms?" Joshua asked._

_The woman, who had never ceased smiling up at Castiel, said, "You know my answer, or I wouldn't have walked into Heaven otherwise. Had to pay admission too, giving up the host for this vessel. Bet she's happy."_

" _She will be," Joshua nodded. Then he turned to Castiel. "And you? What is your answer?"_

_Castiel opened his mouth, unsure what he would say. He felt something stirring inside that he couldn't pinpoint. There was something tugging him, something telling him that joining with this woman was not what he was truly destined for. But who was he to question Christ's word? He needed… more time to think._

_Joshua smiled. "Take a few moments, the two of you. Discuss it, and I will return when you are ready." And he disappeared, leaving the meadow empty but for the two of them._

_Castiel looked down at the beautiful woman – who he now knew wasn't even a woman, but a demon-angel-human hybrid, unlike anything else in creation. She was peculiar, but so was he – an angel who had been human, and who was now the King of Heaven. It was fitting and right that they be joined._

_She stepped closer, pressing her warmth against his body, and his breath caught. Without hesitation, he wrapped his hands around her small waist and lifted her up to bring their mouths together. She wrapped her arms behind his neck, clinging to him as they devoured one another's lips._

_Castiel could not contain himself any longer, and knelt to bring them both to the ground. She sprawled out onto her back, head flung back, hair spread around her head like a black halo. She was breath-taking, and he wanted nothing more than to take her, make her his own and keep her bound to him…_

_The Queen smiled sweetly, and wiggled beneath him. Hands roamed down her sides to her thighs, tugging at the long skirt, and she raised her knee to wrap behind his leg, pulling him closer. His mouth found her jaw, her throat, her heaving chest that lifted to his lips as they moved across soft pale skin. With a nudge, the ruffled top was pushed aside, her small pert breasts exposed to his eyes. Breathing harshly, he traced his tongue over the peaked nipples, sucking them between his teeth. She growled for more and grabbed at his hand, pushing it between her thighs. His fingertips found warmth and wetness that seemed to pulse with life. It was a sheath made for a sword. Struggling with his breeches, Castiel wanted only to be buried within that heat, to spill himself inside…_

" _Oh, my God, Clarence," she groaned desperately, "I knew you wanted this. I knew you'd like it." Her voice barely a whisper now, she breathed, "This will be better than Dean, trust me…"_

_And Castiel froze, his cock in his fist now, hard and eager. He whispered, "Meg…" There was a trace of recognition in his eyes now. He'd been so enamored with his newfound role in Heaven that he'd forgotten himself, quite literally. Had not known the woman he was presented with, hadn't known—_

_The woman's groan changed to annoyed and frantic, and she pulled at his body, trying to bring him forward to push inside. But he would not move. His brow pinched together deeply, Castiel lifted away from her, tucking himself away into his pants, tying them up again._

" _No," he murmured, "it will not be better than… than…"_

_He'd heard the name just a moment before, and now it was slipping away. He stared down at Meg, seeing her disheveled beauty and angry face, and felt ashamed. He could not deny a desire to complete the act with her, but even stronger was the feeling of wrongness and… guilt._

" _Damn it," she growled as he moved away, and she shoved her skirt down and yanked her top up. Pushing to her feet, she went after him as he neared the Tree. "Clare—Castiel," she snapped, "you can't just leave—"_

" _Exactly. I can't," he said. "I can't… leave… him…" A feeling of distress, coming from within and from elsewhere, he leaned a hand against the Tree. "There is something more important than this… I can't stay here. I can't be this…" The full horror of what he'd almost done fell upon him. The lack of control frightened Castiel, but the idea that it'd made him forget something so obviously profound... that he still could not fully remember what his mind was now straining to..._

_She snarled, "You can't walk away from this! You have to be—"_

" _No, he doesn't have to be anything, Melca," came a soft voice._

_Joshua appeared nearby, and shook his head gently. "He cannot cease to be Metatron, it's true. But whether he chooses you or Dean, that is for him to decide. He is still human as well, and our Father gave humans free will."_

" _What about all that talk of bringing balance to the universe?"_

" _There are other ways, of course. This was merely the most straight-forward."_

" _Right. And we can't have anything straight when it comes to him, can we…"_

" _There is no judgment from me on that matter. You know this."_

" _What about what I want?" she snapped_

" _I believe you have what you need **,"** Joshua said, "and that, more than our wants, is what truly matters in this universe. Now as for Castiel… what he needs appears to be elsewhere."_

_With a wordless shout, Meg turned and threw up her hands in disgust. "Love! It's always love, isn't it? Simple chemistry and desire can't be enough."_

" _Now, Melca—"_

" _And don't call me that, Yeshua," she snorted, "unless you want to test how well I can still use my own powers even in Heaven."_

" _Very well. Meg. Love is the greater force, I have always said so. Besides… you are not immune to the feeling yourself no matter how you protest. Would you have truly watched Castiel like a guardian angel, protected him for most of a year as he regained his memory and strength, if you cared for nothing more than your throne? You could have easily forced him to help you."_

" _Shut up or I will put some new holes in you where even the Romans didn't dare go."_

_Joshua only smiled and smiled._

_Meg crossed her arms in impotent fury, and looked back at Castiel. "Well, lover boy, what's it gonna be?"_

_Castiel had paid no attention to them during their exchange, only staring entranced at the Tree. It would tell him what he needed. It was Knowledge of all things…_

_Without a word, he tugged a fruit from the lowest branch of the Tree. As the first time he had held it, the fruit began to spin. Flower. Seed. Egg. Fish, box, globe, star, cube… the world and Heaven in the palm of his hand. He watched it, mesmerized and humbled, trembling with the enormity of everything._

_Though there was much left to do, he had reshaped Heaven, made it better. He'd fulfilled his Quests. He wanted nothing more than to be done… to go home._

_The fruit spun itself to stillness, lay quivering in his hand. Castiel stared at it. It had become a small date, brown and wrinkled, dried as if prepared for a long journey. A seed such as this would last centuries, millennia. It would last forever if treated with care and love. It would grow inside him until he took his final breath and returned to Heaven…_

_He placed the date in his mouth whole. Flavor burst across his tongue, many layered and complex, but underneath it all was the taste of his lover's lips, the salty tang of his release, the very essence of the soul he had touched._

_Balance. Light and dark, truth and love... these things would not be found in heaven, not for Castiel. They were to be found on earth with Dean Winchester._

_Castiel swallowed the traces of his beloved, buried within the fruit, eagerly. The hard pitted center burned down the back of his throat, sinking into his core. It seemed to sprout inside, the leaves springing forth from the seed, pushing through his vessel's skin which peeled back like a husk. Once more he was enormous and glorious and an angel, filling the universe with righteous fury._

_The next moment, he was gasping awake on a cot in Utah, staring up into the reddened eyes of Dean Winchester, and whispering that it was too much… too big…_

_  
_

* * *

For five minutes, Dean was silent. The very air in the Impala seemed to steam from all the overheated thoughts and feelings.

Finally, Dean said, "Okay… You're saying that you're big Kahuna of Heaven."

"I suppose that's accurate enough."

"You still have your mojo, well some of it—"

"To an extent, but I won't be fully angel so long as I'm alive."

"There's a bunch of angels working for you—"

" _With_ me."

"Whatever. Sandy is practically joined at the hip with you…"

Castiel sighed irritably. "Dean, we are, in essence, twins. He is my _brother_ in the same way that Sam is yours. Bonded from creation, though neither of us knew this until we finally met. It is… the way of angels, apparently. We are made to share our grace with another."

Dean scowled darkly. "You're saying you're gonna marry _this_ guy in Heaven? Like you _nearly_ married _Meg_? Get a little grace-on-grace action, finally?"

Exasperated and angry, Castiel snarled, "Don't be ridiculous! Dean, I would never betray you, on earth or elsewhere. I am _yours_ , you are _mine,_ and that bond is far deeper and all that's important to me. It's bad enough what nearly _did_ happen, when my mind was overwhelmed by the rush of new power. That I almost… with Meg…" Stopping, he breathed harshly through his nose, trying to compose himself. "I felt so _ashamed_ , Dean. I could barely look in your eyes these last weeks, feeling that shame would be emblazoned upon my face. I had to concentrate on getting Heaven settled, taking care of things that would never be done without me… and if I had been caught up in discussing _this_ , it would have been impossible."

Strained silence fell again. Dean eventually said, "So you kept me at arm's length because you were feeling guilty about Meg? That's all?"

Slowly, frowning, Castiel said, "…Yes. What did you think it was for?"

Dean laughed once, sharply. "Dude, I thought you were _done_ with me! You were packing your bags and shipping out, and I was just waiting for a 'Dear John'. It's what you'd wanted so long – to know who you were, to have all that angel crap back. And you _had_ it…"

Castiel whispered, "I remember promising that I would rather let the world burn than to leave your side, Dean. I meant it."

Taking a deep breath, like he hadn't breathed in weeks, Dean turned to Castiel and said, "You fucking well better mean it, or I'm gonna kick your ass. Plus we were supposed to not do the secret-keeping shit anymore. This was a pretty damned big one – Meg." Castiel ducked his head, unable to defend himself. "But… well, that was in another place and time. You weren't really _you_ , not the you I know and trust. And I know…" Dean took another breath "…there's no way she's coming between us. Am I right?"

Castiel lifted his head and smiled gently. "Not a chance in Hell."

"Good. Okay. Now, can we please go inside?" Dean grunted, exhaustion showing in his posture again. "I am trashed and I wanna crawl in bed and cuddle and don't you fucking ever tell anyone I said that or you're a dead man."

_  
_

* * *

It was afternoon by the time Dean cracked his eyes open again. He felt loads better, physically, emotionally, pretty much every way. And he'd have turned over and kissed his lover breathless but Cas was already out of bed.

He rose and padded barefoot out to the kitchen, yawning and stretching, and realizing he was starved since his last meal had been nearly twenty-four hours earlier. There was a sticky note on the fridge letting him know that a plate of sandwiches was wrapped up inside. Smiling, he pulled out the whole plate, shoved one sandwich into his mouth, grabbed a bottle of water with his free hand, and juggled it all carefully as he walked toward the living room.

Sandwich still between his teeth, he found Cas at the desk, on the phone again and reading email while tapping steadily on Sam's laptop. Dean frowned, nearly dropping the sandwich, so he put the plate and bottle down and removed it from his mouth. Chewing the bite he'd taken, he muttered, "You can't take a break for even one day?"

Castiel turned just enough to smile at Dean, hold up one finger for silence, and returned to his conversation. "Yes, I'll be getting a scanner soon so we can begin exchanging roughs for the work. I've got the files she sent open now, and the script looks good so far. I'll have time to make modifications tomorrow morning." He paused, listening to the other person, then chuckled. "Yes, I suppose Sam could 'hook me up' with a webcam. Video conferences might indeed be faster… All right, I need to leave for now, Dean is awake and… yes, I'll say _hello_ for you. Goodbye, Becky."

Dean nearly choked on his sandwich, and quickly swallowed from his water bottle before he could speak. "Becky? As in Rosen?"

"Yes." Cas actually smiled about it. "I was going to fill you in on our project tonight."

"Project? Oh please tell me you're not organizing a convention with her."

"Hmm, that's a possibility for the future," Cas mused, ignoring Dean's incredulous stare. "But for now we have to restart the _Supernatural_ series. The 'canon' must catch up with current situations—"

" _What the fuck? Cas!_ " he all but shouted.

Castiel sighed, and picked up a large manila envelope which he waved at Dean. "This is important. Chuck left legal papers with a lawyer, which were just released to Becky and myself. We are, it seems, his 'heirs' and the entirety of his belongings are now ours. Including all rights to _Supernatural_. Royalties accrued from previous work are being sent directly to Claire and Amelia Novak, anonymously as I doubt they'd like to know it came from me. Any future earnings will be split between myself, Becky, and whomever works on the project with us – writers, artists, and so on. I've already begun working on character designs," –he nodded toward a stack of notebooks – "and once I get a scanner I shall send copies of them to the artists Becky knows will be best. She's contacted one of the fan fiction writers, the one who seems to be somewhat psychic and who managed to write a great deal of what happened to us all in the last few years, taking up where Chuck's books left off – I'm not certain yet that she's a prophet but I'll have Sandalphon check our records. At the moment, we're planning to turn the written series into graphic novels, and all new material will automatically be produced in that format."

Dean had stood in the middle of the room with his mouth open in stunned silence. When Cas finally paused, he stuttered, "So _this_ is what you were talking about the other day? The 'providing for Claire' business?"

"You heard that, I see." Cas pursed his lips and sighed. "But yes, that, as well as the present monies awaiting us from Chuck's estate, which are being sent to your bank account."

"Why mine?"

Castiel looked at him as though he was stupid. "Because I don't have one of my _own_ , Dean. I've never had any money to put into a bank."

"Oh, yeah," Dean flushed, and dropped his eyes. Now he felt like a jerk. Of course Cas had nothing but what he and Sam had shared, which must have been uncomfortable, feeling like he was obligated to them. "Um, we can open one in the morning, if you want. I don't need to keep the money for you."

Cas's lips twitched in a little smile. "That would be acceptable. Since I will now be gainfully employed, I probably _should_ have my own available funds."

"Yeah," Dean sighed, lifting his eyes again. "I'm glad you're doing something that'll make you happy but… I mean… _Supernatural?_ C'mon Cas, this is _us!_ Our private lives," he whined a little.

"Which I am telling in my own way. I am the editor of the script and have final say. If you truly disapprove of something, it will be rewritten or omitted. And though I'm designing our characters," Castiel smirked playfully, "I promise, no 'full frontal'. There are plenty of fan artists to cover that for us."

Dean groaned in pain, sinking to the couch and putting his head in his hands. "Please, don't ever let one of those girls illustrate the books, okay?"

Laughing softly, Cas said, "I can't guarantee that. Some of them are exceptionally talented and we do want the best—" When Dean just moaned miserably, he leaned over as far as possible and grabbed Dean's hand. "It'll be fine. You'll see. And I swear that I'll never allow any of them, not even Becky, to visit the house."

"Oh, thank _God_."

"You're welcome," Castiel's eyes twinkled with mischief.

And Dean got it. They had a really huge inside joke.

He burst out laughing until he was crying. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad after all.

_  
_

* * *

"Can you believe the janitors just _ignored_ all that strange crap and carried around freaking boom boxes until the girl Carlotta was off the stage?"

Dean opened the back door to the duplex, gesturing Sam to walk ahead of him. He did, scuffing his boots off as he went. Sam huffed a laugh. "What?" Dean said defensively as he kicked off his own boots. "Cas likes the movie. Plus, Gerard Butler." When Sam just raised an eyebrow, Dean scowled and replied, "Ugh, Sammy, no. It's just the dude's a badass even with a cape and opera gloves."

"Sure, Dean. Whatever."

Spirits high, they shared an easy grin. It had been a successful—and very short—local hunt. The somewhat infamous theater ghost at Salina Central High School had struck. Legend was a teenage girl had died in a car accident on the way to a school production, while carrying curtains for the stage. School custodians had grown used to the occasional moans and moved equipment, to the point they acted almost fond of the 'ghost'. Who proved herself real when she dropped those curtains on the head of the girl rehearsing for the very same role she'd been fated to perform.

Luckily it was an easy enough fix – burn the curtains. Which, grossly, still had traces of the ghost's blood. What the hell, was the school budget so tight they had to hang onto equipment even if someone _died_ on it? But anyway, the ghost was laid to rest and the crappy little show would go on.

"You seem happy," Sam commented. "Happier than you've been, anyways."

Grinning softly in a way he hadn't in far too long, Dean said, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I am. Me and Cas, we're in a good place."

"That's good, Dean. Great, actually."

"Yeah. It is." Chuffing Sam's shoulder, Dean asked, "What about you and Gail? Things seem to be going pretty well there, too."

"They are," Sam agreed as they moved towards the kitchen. "In fact, she—"

" _I don't understand. The internet seems to indicate that there is some level of violence in such a relationship. As much as Dean frustrates me at times, I have no wish to truly hurt him."_

Sam froze ahead of him, whipping his arm out to prevent Dean from going further. The look in his eyes said that he hoped Dean hadn't heard what Cas had said. Unfortunately for them both, Dean heard every word... and how Gail replied.

" _Well, that can be part of it, certainly. But that's only one aspect. There are many different kinds of subs and doms. I'm actually what's considered more of a soft-dom, in that I don't—"_

Dean craned his neck past Sam to gape. Castiel and Gail were sitting calmly at the kitchen table, cups of tea and plates of cookies in front of them. Cas was nodding along as Gail spoke, and was that— _Jesus, was he taking notes?_

Sam looked how Dean felt; mouth hanging open, jaw slack. Flushing hotly, Dean shoved Sam's shoulder and said, hissing, "We never speak of this. Ever."

Nodding fervently, Sam whispered, "Oh, trust me, I'm already working on forgetting this as soon as—"

And then Gail said: _"I could loan you a paddle if you guys want to—"_

Sam choked on his own tongue and reeled backward into the hallway. He looked everywhere but Dean's face.

Dean's eyes were round and wide. "Uh… Let's go in there and break this party up, yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam croaked weakly. "Let's."

"Cas!" Dean tried to casually stroll into the room. "We're back!"

Quickly flipping shut the notebook he'd been scribbling in, Cas blushed faintly but said in a calm tone, "Hello, Dean. Sam."

Sam simply nodded at them in turn, Adam's apple bobbing. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Hey, Sam, didn't you tell me you wanted to take Gail next door to ask her about _the thing_?"

"The—the thing?"

Dean winced. _How the hell could the kid run cons for years and stumble over this, of all things..._ "Yeah. You know. The _thing_."

"Oh!" Sam said, completely unconvincingly. " _The thing!_ Yeah, Gail, could you-?"

Smirking, she stood. "I think we're being separated, Castiel."

The angel snorted. "So it would seem. We can continue this conversation at a later time?"

"Absolutely," Gail said, at the same time both Dean and Sam reflexively shouted, " _No!_ "

Snickering, she trailed her fingers along Sam's chest. "C'mon, let's go… play with _the thing_ …" Without a whisper of complaint, a scarlet-faced Sam followed.

Dean waited until they'd closed the door behind them before turning to Cas. He raised an eyebrow but the angel only shrugged.

"Gail brought it up, and I was intrigued. And although it seems fascinating, I'm not certain that type of relationship would suit us."

Bemused, Dean said, "Then why were you taking notes?"

"I wasn't."

Pulling the notebook close to him, Dean asked, "Then what were you—" The words dried up in his throat as he flipped open the cover.

No, Cas hadn't been taking notes. He'd been drawing. Graphically.

"This better not be for the thing with Becky," Dean rasped. "That's... that's..."

"Me," Castiel provided helpfully. "And you." Standing, Castiel curved along Dean's back, tucking that sharp chin atop his shoulder. "And no, this is categorically _not_ for the comics. I told you no full frontal and I meant it. This… is what I'd like you to do to me. Tonight."

Cas whispered heatedly in his ear, "Do you think you could oblige me?" Clever fingers crept up Dean's spine and tangled in his hair, tugging lightly on the nape of his neck. "Do you think you could push me face down on the bed? Hold me down? Fuck me hard and slow until I'm begging you to let me come?"

"Yeah," Dean growled, turning in the circle of Cas's arms until they were face to face. He nipped Castiel's chin lightly, just a scrape of teeth on stubble but it caused Cas's whole body to shiver. "I think I can manage that. Since you asked so nicely."

_  
_

* * *

There was a thunderstorm rolling away when Castiel woke up suddenly in the night.

He could hear the rush of rain rolling off the duplex's eaves and spattering to the ground below through the open window. It hadn't been supposed to rain so they'd left them open and now there was sure to be messy puddles on the floor. He and Dean really did need to get outside and repair those gutters, as they'd told Gail they would a week ago.

And then it hit him. _He'd be able to._

He'd be here to hand Dean tools while the hunter balanced precariously with those charmingly bowed legs on the ladder, too damned proud to admit his fear of heights. He would be here to watch the children he knows, suddenly and certainly, that they will adopt grow and thrive. He'd be here to hold Dean's hand as they both aged, as their hair turned gray and their skin thinned and muscles lost firmness.

He'd also have nightmares and dreams, visions of fighting and Heaven and Hell and for all he knew falling into a trance at the dinner table if some celestial emergency were to come up.

But _he'd be here_ when it happened. With _Dean_.

Castiel crawled out of bed, stumbling over the edge of their rug and treading in a puddle of rainwater on the cold bare wood floor, before managing to shut the window against the storm. Shivering, he scrambled back under the covers, feet damp and wanting to press them against Dean's warmth but also not wanting to wake the man.

"S'ok?" Dean murmured, rolling over and cocooning close to him. "Cas, y'okay?"

"Yes Dean," Castiel whispered, kissing his temple, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. "I'm okay. I'm here with you. Go back to sleep."

"Love you," Dean slurred, before nestling in and drifting back off, a light snore rumbling from his mouth.

Castiel huffed, amused. It was the first time he'd heard that sentiment. Dean wasn't able to say such things while fully awake and conscious, but that hardly mattered. Castiel knew anyways.

"And I you, Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [See](http://goo.gl/w2Svc) [details](http://goo.gl/uk4Ar) [here](http://goo.gl/nPzxM) about Enoch, and also check Guiley’s book entry. The fruit Castiel picks is based on the [Metatron’s](http://goo.gl/USF9j) [Cube](http://goo.gl/hsC2U), which worked beautifully into the mathematics of a [geodesic dome](http://goo.gl/gshLP), which worked beautifully with the chapter title. The song, sadly, is rather lacking in depth.  
> \- The [Siege](http://goo.gl/I2bwl) [Perilous](http://goo.gl/Dbzm3) has been alluded to several times in Castiel’s quest dreams.   
> \-  Castiel has gone into Maon to take Adam out, of course. And rest assured, he's been healed and put into his own heaven. Michael and Lucifer, still in the Cage.  
> \- The [oldest](http://goo.gl/5NAXD) [viable](http://goo.gl/e8YHD) [seed](http://goo.gl/70Gv8) in current history was the Judean Date Palm. Researchers estimate the seed was 2,000 years old by the time scientists decided to make it grow. Dates were also mentioned as one of the seven foods with which the land of Israel was blessed. ([Deut. 8:8](http://goo.gl/5Mqzm))  
> \- The locations mentioned in the [Selina Central Mall](http://goo.gl/O1Shn)—the [western themed store](http://goo.gl/b1C7y), the pretzel shop, and the[ aquarium](http://goo.gl/nkxg0)—all exist. The aquarium features fish local to the Kansas and Midwest area, and from what we can tell seems to be free to the public.   
> \- [Salina Central High School is said to be haunted](http://goo.gl/mXwLt) in the manner we described in the story, albeit less maliciously.  
> \- [Carlotta](http://goo.gl/7TacF) is the name of a character in Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera. In the[ 2004 film version](http://goo.gl/hTelQ), the Phantom attempts to drop a curtain on Carlotta during a rehearsal in a bid to have his protégé, Christine, fill the diva's roll instead. He's successful when Carlotta storms off in a huff. Gerard Butler played the Phantom in that version, who Dean references as well.  
> 


	14. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily ever after never looked so... colorful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphics by Quantum Witch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*****  END  *****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- In the writing credits for the Supernatural graphic novel series, P. Ventura is referencing princess_ventura the fan author in Chapter 7. Other than the obvious C. J. Singer, the artists are just randomly created names and not based on anyone.  
> \- Yeah, Gail gets a MarySue middle name after all. And awesomely, there's a typo in the wedding announcement, which is appropriate for a newspaper.  
> \- The song lyrics on Dean and Cas's invitation are from ["All Of My Love" by Led Zeppelin](http://youtu.be/z0DAnu5Sq6k). The whole song is so appropriate for them with references to fate, destiny... feathers. They played it at the wedding and made everyone nauseous.  
> \- The kids Dean and Cas adopt (possibly slightly not-entirely legally, but they have friends in VERY high places) are the children of hunters who got killed. No, the kids didn't witness it, so they're not traumatized like Dean and Sam were. They'll have normal childhoods - as normal as things get with these guys. And yes, the parents really DID give their blessing, since Castiel could go ask them in Heaven.  
> \- Yep, Sam and Gail named their daughter for Becky, Ellen and Sam's mom. Becky squeed until she fainted.

**Author's Note:**

> -The title ["Somewhere to Elsewhere"](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Kansas:Somewhere_To_Elsewhere_%282000%29) is a Kansas album. As each chapter came together, we realized how eerily well the lyrics of the songs fit to the contents. Just love it when things fall into place like that.
> 
> -We wrote the Leviathan embodied in the form of Eve the Mother of All, way back in the prequel to this story long before the show even mentioned the creatures. Go read ["Use Your Illusions"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/201573). We did our research thoroughly and showed our homework, too.


End file.
